


May Fortune Guide Us

by FaultyParagon



Series: RWBY AUs [17]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Although like realistically Clover's a solid choice, Baby Ruby has a lisp, Clover Ebi-centric, Crow Qrow Branwen, Depressed Qrow Branwen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, For the last time Qrow get out of your cave young man, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I will fight anyone who says otherwise, M/M, Ozpin needs to stop trying to set Qrow up with people, Qrow is just a sad bird who wants some company, Romance, Shapeshifting, Stop spending all the money in your horde, fair game, what do you mean you're just a bird, you're a shitty dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Sir Clover Ebi, one of the bravest knights in the Kingdom of Atlas, is well-known for not just his prowess with a blade, but for his good luck as well. Add to that his good looks and sculpted physique, and he is one of the most prized knights in the land.So, when King Ironwood sends him on a quest to answer the plea of an allied kingdom to defeat a dragon which has been plaguing their lands, Clover knows that he shall be the one to vanquish the beast and claim its horde of treasure.So… why is there a handsome shapeshifter in the dragon’s den instead?-aka Clover is a knight that gets catfished into ‘slaying’ a depressed bird-man (more like slaying his depression and self-esteem issues amirite). Fair Game, medieval fantasy AU.
Relationships: Harriet Bree & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen & Ozpin, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose & Taiyang Xiao Long & Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose & Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: RWBY AUs [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948
Comments: 167
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me, just dropping this little thing here.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!

"And this, Sir Ebi, is your mission."

The words echoed through the rafters of the grand hall of the castle, bouncing off of the icy keep's walls and resonating through the frigid air. The voice was commanding, but full of hope, of trust; the amount of faith one could glean from the order was almost the same as the trust put into the Great Brothers themselves, the creators who watched over them from above, and just by listening to the voice, every soul present in the audience chamber in front of the throne knew that there was no doubt that the mission would be completed- that their knight would come home victorious.

After all, they were not just sending any knight on this quest.

The kneeling man stood to his full height, his greaves clanking in protest as he settled to stand at ease, his expression calm and resolute. "I swear to you, milord," he announced in front of the grand hall, jade eyes clear, "I shall slay the beast."

King James Ironwood nodded sagely, his expression outwardly serene as he announced, "Time is of the essence. The people of Vale, the innocents of Patch, require your aid. Go, now; we shall prepare transport for you upon the next light's ship." The knight could see past that façade, however; the slight crease between his brows, the heaviness of his shoulders, all indicated that the king was just as unhappy with this request for aid as he.

The king's advisor stepped forward, her mouth twisted into an anxious frown. "But Your Majesty," she cried, her pale eyes frantically looking at the knight through an errant lock of icy-white hair, "the winter months are on the way; the waters between Sanus and Solitas will not be safe-"

The king held up a hand to stop her words, eyes kind and understanding as he murmured, "They shall be treacherous, true, Winter," he said, "but our allies are in need of aid. We, with the might of Atlas, need to protect our allies whenever possible. We shall not allow comrades to struggle." Turning his gaze back to the knight standing before him, he added, "Sir Clover Ebi, Knight of Mantle: will you take on this challenge of slaying the beast plaguing the islands of Vale?"

The knight bowed at the waist, a confident, proud smile on his face; just as his king demanded it. "Consider it done, Your Majesty."

King Ironwood's eyes creased joyfully, lips quirking into a soft, proud smile even underneath his thick, grey-streaked beard and hidden air of concern. Voice soft, he intoned, "I shall. Do us proud, Clover."

Clover straightened up and nodded towards Winter Schnee, alongside the king's bubbly squire, before raising a clenched fist and holding it above his heart in salute to his king. Then, the man's arm dropped to his side before turning on his heel and marching out of the hall. To all onlookers, his gaze was steely and self-assured, his gait confident and brave. He was the perfect knight, with armour polished to a mirror-shine and hooked blade razor-sharp, his chiselled features and smooth tenor calming the hearts of all he protected. They knew that he was heading off to an assured victory; that he bore the skill and majesty of one with the blessing of good fortune from birth, and with the Atlesian banner held high, they knew he would be able to save their allies in the Kingdom of Vale without a doubt.

In his mind, however, Clover was not as hopeful. While his birth had aligned under a glorious star, the Brothers having blessed him with powerfully good fortune all his life, knowing that he was being sent into the literal dragon's maw was never exactly a reassuring thing to realize.

He voiced these concerns in private only to Pietro Polendina, the blacksmith and armoury master in charge of ensuring he was well-equipped for the journey ahead. "They say the beast is a shapeshifter," he said lowly, running his fingers across a well-worn chart marked with his route. His touch dragged across the map, the air heavy with smoke and burning coal and molten metal, sweat almost dripping onto the page as he hunched over the parchment, the heat so unusual to the frozen earth of Solitas causing him to melt. "The beast is here, lurking within a cave upon the island of Patch, at the southernmost point."

"Then you'd best be careful," the master smith soothed. "I wish I could send my Penny with you, but-"

"Penny is needed to service the king," Clover laughed instantly, shaking his head. "Besides, a dragon's den is not a place for a maiden."

Pietro raised a brow at Clover's comment, peering at him over spectacles as he tinkered with the mechanism on Kingfisher, the knight's preferred weapon. "She's going to be your colleague one day," he said flatly, his hammer raised almost threateningly despite the fact that they were separated by over ten feet.

Clover sighed. "I mean no disrespect, master smith. I merely would like to see someone of her age grow old enough to join me as a fellow; there is no loss greater than the loss of a youth, woman or no." With a wry, teasing smile, he added, "Besides, you and I both know that she is stronger than all of the other squires in this castle."

The smith immediately cast him a scandalized look, but the ruddy glow in his cheeks showed his clear happiness from the comment. "From your lips to the servant's ears," he scolded, "so don't you give that kind of fodder to them, you hear me, good knight?"

"Yes, yes," the knight laughed, but his mood was instantly soured as he looked back at the chart, at his already-packed supplies, at his weapon upon the workbench.

"Something else is bothering you."

"It's just…" He let out a long, weary sigh. "I do not understand why a knight of Vale has not been dispatched. The journey to Sanus is not exactly without its perils; it would be far more efficient to send someone of their own lands to slay the beast, would it not?"

Without even looking up from Kingfisher, Pietro commented, "Perhaps they've already tried."

"Well, _that's_ comforting."

"But your luck should keep you safe!"

" _Luck_ may not be enough against a shifter," Clover insisted, standing up and stretching his legs. He began pacing around the workshop, staring at the numerous blades and gauntlets and mails lining the walls, evidence of the master craftsman's handiwork. His skin crawled as he remembered Winter's briefing earlier that day, the images her succinct, honest words had painted into his mind enough to make him shudder. He was used to taking down Grimm infestations and aiding innocents, but this abomination? Shifters were rare enough as it was, so to hear of one living a life of evil… "According to Winter's informants, this creature is a skilled shifter. It is known for seducing and kidnapping women, for pillaging and stealing offerings, for plundering taverns in different forms; multi-headed and fanged and clawed and-"

"And you shall conquer it all," Pietro insisted, finally laying a tuned-up Kingfisher upon a cushion for Clover to hold. "You shall be fine."

Clover opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, the bells chiming the hour began to echo throughout the castle, signalling the time for Clover's next appointment. With a small bow, Clover hooked his weapon upon his best and smiled, "Then, I shall not say goodbye."

"See you soon, sir knight," Pietro bowed back from his rolling chair, all sweat-stained garments and sooty smile, filled with such confidence and affection that Clover had to puff his chest out slightly. "You'd better bring my blade back to me to polish later."

"Of course." With that, Clover donned his usual tunic and heating layers which he had abandoned upon entering the armoury and smithy, scooped up his belongings and headed for his quarters, wincing as the icy northern chill immediately began freezing the sweat upon his temples. He had only half an hour before his presence would be sought; he had one final dinner with his colleagues in the mess, for this night would be for dinner and for drink. Come morn, he would set forth on his quest alone, traversing the Grimm-infested ocean to the Kingdom of Vale to face his greatest foe yet: the dragon of Patch.

He was ready. And, with the Great Brothers and his fortune on his side, he would bring honour to his kingdom no matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning provided lovely weather for his early departure, giving Clover just enough sunlight creeping over the cold seas surrounding the icy continent to really, truly take in just how beautiful his kingdom of tundra and snow could be; he stood upon the pier, crewmen loading up their vessel with necessary supplies for the sea voyage and for Clover’s quest itself. The formal missive from the trusted advisor of the Valean king, a scholar named Ozpin, rested within the inner pocket of Clover’s tunic, ready to be presented upon his arrival.

He gulped. The seas had been dangerous as of late; creatures of Grimm, with their shadowy presences and acrid odors and masks made of blood and bone, infested these waters between Solitas and the southern continents. _Why couldn’t it have been a beast in Argus?_ he allowed himself to wonder dolefully for just a moment; if it had indeed been a mission to Argus, to the lands of Anima, their journey would have been cut in half. As it was, Clover needed to enjoy the embrace of dry land, for he was going to be at sea for almost a month- longer if they encountered any mishaps along the way.

Winter stood at the bottom of the walkway leading up into the ship. “Are you ready, Sir Clover?” she asked calmly, appraising him with naught but professionalism and readiness in her eyes.

He took one final deep breath in, held it, then let it out, feeling his entire body relax slightly. _Stay calm,_ he told himself. _You’ve fought many a beast here. If you’re too frantic on the water, the Grimm’ll find you, and that’ll cause problems for the whole crew. Just calm down._

When his heart had settled, he turned to Winter and nodded. Glancing at the elegant script upon the side of the ship, he couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. “I’m ready, but it’s ironic that you’re the one helping us today. Is this your vessel?”

The _Winter Maiden_ was a lovely, powerful ship, all Atlesian sleekness and elegance. The royal advisor clearly did not enjoy the little joke, taking a moment to glower at the knight before returning to her usual demeanor of calm collectedness; she nodded back sagely, gesturing for him to board. From atop the walkway, the captain of the ship stood at ease. “We’re ready for departure, milord,” she boomed, powerful voice echoing across the way despite her diminutive figure. “Let us know when you would like to set sail.”

“Thanks, Hare,” Clover nodded, waving Captain Harriet Bree back to her station. His worries eased slightly thanks to her confidence; after many a journey with her and her crew of ace operatives down to nearest port of Argus, he knew that her crew was more than competent. It helped that he got along with them, too. The rest of the crew watched him from their posts dutifully, all bearing the white, blue and red uniforms of Atlesian men and women. They were hardy folk, brave enough to bear the eternal winter of Atlas. They would take him to Sanus safe and sound.

Winter bowed, not an inch lower than necessary. “Once the anchor is raised, I shall grant you speed.” Lifting her chin haughtily, she watched Clover, her pale eyes cold, analytical. “This mission requires great diligence. Do what must be done.”

With that, Clover boarded the ship, Kingfisher at his waist and his winter cloak around his shoulders ready to be stowed away the moment they reached warmer waters. The journey would be perilous, but he was ready. Nodding to Harriet and Winter, he took his post at the front of the ship, overlooking the seas carefully for any signs of trouble. Behind him, the crew set off in a flurry of motion, with Harriet’s highest-ranking officers barking orders to their sailors and preparing their departure. Once the anchor had been raised, the clinking of giant, heavy chains finally ceasing upon the winch, Clover turned his gaze to Winter, watching her with apprehension in his heart.

No matter how many times he saw it, he would never be able to wrap his mind around Winter Schnee’s powers.

The woman’s entire body began to exude light as she began using her Aura, her magical core, to formulate a summoning glyph upon the ground. The white rune that appeared seemingly out of nowhere underneath her feet glowed, intricate lines and symbols dancing within one another in circular motions as she began to chant under her breath, creating matter from the air itself. It was a gift given by the Brothers themselves; goodness knows Clover didn’t have a lick of magic in his body.

Clover shuddered as the crew unfurled the sails, Harriet’s voice projecting across the ship. “Hold it steady! The wind is coming!” At her command, Clover walked over to a railing and held on tight, waiting for the familiar lurch to upset his stomach; it wasn’t ask if he truly needed any help doing that, in reality, considering the facts laid out before them.

After all, no matter how dire the situation had been in the past, King Ironwood had never asked his advisor to summon the wind to aid Clover’s journey to Argus. The fact that he was using his most powerful sorceress to aid in Clover’s voyage boded ill.

Despite his hands gripping onto the railing, his eyes could not be torn away from Winter. The woman’s white hair began to fly around her youthful face twisted in concentration as light began to break off and fly upwards from the glyphs underneath her, these shards slowly morphing and twisting, turning into recognizable forms little by little until they took the shape of naught but a flock of birds. Once fifty of the creatures had been summoned, these beings of pure wind and light and Aura fluttering around Winter’s head in wait, the woman straightened up and pointed at the sail. From that distance, all Clover could see was the movements of her lips; ten seconds of mouthing spells and incantations, and the birds amalgamated into one hive-minded flock, barreling into the unfurled, braced sail without warning.

And just like that, the manifestation of pure wind was in their sails, the _Winter Maiden_ lurched forward, and Clover could no longer turn back.

Clover enjoyed the solitude of looking out onto the frigid waters until the sun had risen well and proper, shining in a clear sky. With Winter’s summoned birds of wind pushing their vessel along its southwestern trajectory as planned, the wind kept Clover’s cheeks cool despite the growing heat and his spirits up. As long as he didn’t have to see shadows throughout their journey, he’d be happy. _I’m already going to be hunting down a shifter,_ he thought. _I don’t need any other complications._

It was after lunch when Harriet’s newest ranking crew member, a young Faunus boy by the name of Marrow, approached him with a small bag. Once he was close enough, he offered Clover its contents; pitted dates, the savoury dried fruit tantalizing already amidst the biting tang of the magical wind in their sails, the salt of the sea spraying across the bow of the vessel. Clover shook his head, however. “I’d save those if I were you,” he said mildly.

Marrow shrugged, surprisingly nonplussed near him despite talking to one of the most esteemed knights in Atlas. Leaning upon the railing as he looked over the calm seas, he said, “But milord, won’t your luck guarantee a quick journey? I doubt we’ll have to be miserly on this trip-“

“Never take chances,” Clover chided lightly. “The Brothers are great, but they also play tricks.”

Marrow didn’t seem willing to put the fruit away, his canine tail tucking sadly between his legs for a moment. Then, it wagged excitedly when Clover finally sighed, holding out a hand to accept the offering. “Just one. Don’t tell Bree,” he said firmly.

Obediently, Marrow plopped one date in his hand before another crewmate’s voice rang through the air. “Marrow, getchur ass up on the lookout or so help me-“

“Yes ma’am!” Marrow squeaked, waving awkwardly to Clover before rushing away, tucking his dates into the pouch he hung at his waist.

Clover chuckled as the watched the young man scamper up the netting with all the ease in the world, only tearing his eyes away when he heard floorboards upon the deck creak and a throat clear behind him. “I hope you’re not wasting my men’s time, Sir Clover,” Harriet said, deadpan.

He rolled his eyes, taking a bite of the date and relishing in it. “I’m sure your men are able to handle a conversation, at least.”

Harriet clapped him on the shoulder. “Fair enough. Better you than some of the other knights I’ve had on board, I’ll say. Just don’t be a nuisance.”

Before Clover could retort, his eyes locked onto a ripple underneath the water a few hundred feet away from the _Winter Maiden._ He paused, squinting at it, praying for it to dissipate and blend back into the ocean waves.

Of course, it didn’t, the waves only growing stronger and stronger until Clover could spot a roiling, shadowy mass underneath it all. “Hare, you need to get your cannons out,” he said quietly. “Keep the crew calm.”

Instantly, Harriet knew what to do, silently stalking forward to begin their Grimm evasion protocols. _Of course the journey couldn’t be easy,_ Clover thought bitterly, holding Kingfisher in his hands. _Well. Day one. Might as well start the hunts now._

It was going to be a long, long trip.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so close to the meeting of the idiots!!!

The ocean waves did nothing but bring bitterness and bile into Clover’s mouth after nearly twenty-five days at sea.

His muscles were completely toned, stripped away of any excess fat thanks to mild dehydration and the constant battling against the Grimm, for every nautical mile was met with yet another demon to fight. Sea Feilongs arose from the depths to strike out against the _Winter Maiden_ with their powerful talons and long, writhing scaly bodies, flying up into the air and unleashing beams of light and fire from their gaping maws into their path. Beringels from the warmer coves of southern Solitas somehow managed to fly all the way across the waters to stalk their lone ship, their hulking, ape-like forms all gnashing teeth and spit and acrid, stinging smoke. Sphinxes and Manticores from the continent of Anima came in droves to seek out the brave sailors who had decided to cross the oceans in these perilous times, the feline, winged Grimm haunting in the shadows, golden-red eyes behind white masks of bone shining as they plummeted towards the vessel after nightfall.

Clover missed sleeping a whole night. He had eventually moved a small, extra cot onto the deck of the ship, simply rigging it against the center mast so he could nap between the demon raids. It was his duty to guide the sailors in their defensive manoeuvres whenever Grimm were around, after all; it was his duty to bear Kingfisher and slay their enemies, so that the captain and her crew could focus on battling the seas and the skies in order to bring him to Sanus safely. That meant he needed to be ready to battle at all times, and although he was proud of his work, _brothers_ he was sick of it.

It was a damn shame that the Grimm didn’t leave behind any salvageable meat, the creatures of darkness simply fading away into misty shadow the moment their mana lines were cut. Clover was quite sick of dried jerky and salted fish by the ninth day, so his joy only waned irreparably afterwards. While food and water rations still remained on-hand by the time they managed to sail all the way around the western coast of Sanus to the small isle of Patch, Clover found himself begging to be reunited with land, having lost his appetite many nights earlier.

At least their speed never faded; Winter Schnee’s magic was strong as ever, and the silent flurry of shimmering, kestrel-sized birds of air continued pushing them through the waters, rain or shine, at a speed no mere ship would have ever been able to handle.

The moment they drew near, he dressed himself in the garb fitting of an Atlesian knight, relishing in the ability to toss the sweat-soaked, ragged uniform he had been living in for weeks off the side of the boat. He put on the bravest face he could as they approached the shore, but he knew that it could not have been an expression of grace or tact; how could he maintain his poise when the sun beat down upon his brow with an intensity and fervour that Solitas’ icy peaks could never replicate?

As he baked within his tunic and leather armour, silently praising his insight in keeping his proper plate armour stored dryly below deck alongside his other supplies- he would have absolutely _melted_ wearing it on top of his wool-lined tunic- he watched as Harriet removed her hat, brushing callused fingers through short, sun-bleached hair, the dark-skinned woman clearly struggling with the heat as much as he. She walked over to him with a weary, but satisfied grin on her face, propping her hand on her hip. “We’ll set you off here,” she explained quietly, “where the innkeeper should be meetin’ ya. Then, we’ll head off to the city of Vale; the port there should be able to replenish our missing stock and help us with repairing the ship.”

Clover nodded, bracing himself against the railing as the crew pulled into the small port, the chains of a dropping anchor clinking and echoing through the air as sailors counted off their tasks and called out to one another, adding to the din aboard the ship. “I have to thank your crew,” he said earnestly, looking out over the faces he had grown fond of over the past weeks. It was a motley, ragtag bunch, but every single one of them had proved their mettle over the course of their journey, providing valuable aid not only in the crew, but in battle as well. “A weaker vessel would have crumbled under Winter’s magic.”

Harriet smiled toothily, all feral pride. “Of course,” she scoffed. “The _Winter Maiden_ isn’t faint of heart.”

“I can see that,” he replied with a cocked brow, idly watching the men unload the boat while one crewmate held up the royal Atlesian missive from King Ironwood to a watchman upon the dock. “I appreciate it.” As he spoke, his eyes roved over the island, taking in their destination for the first time in his life.

No matter how many times he had seen paintings of the lands of the southern continents, the amount of _colour_ always shocked and awed Clover. Where Atlas and Mantle knew little but fiery coals and glittering, icy tundra, Patch was a fairly small, secluded island; a temperate climate which experienced the passage of all four seasons allowed the forests to grow and die year by year upon the main, elevated expanse covering the main isle, the shoreline meeting the sea below jagged cliffs that separated the water from the main elevation. Green and yellow and _sunshine_ spread as far as the eye could see, so much that it almost made his eyes hurt. The _Winter Maiden_ had moored at the one townstead he could spot for miles up and down the shore, and the spare gathering of buildings proved evident that it was naught more than a small fishing spot for travelers.

 _The people are likely situated atop the main forested ground,_ Clover thought idly, squinting at the treeline above him. It was too dense to see any buildings between glittering green, however.

The peak of a small mountain could be seen atop it all. Dragons usually nested atop peaks, burrowing intricate dens within rocky walls to protect their hoards. Clover had no idea what to expect when it came to shifters, however.

The crew’s calls for his attention were what finally tore his mind away from analyzing the island itself. Harriet’s top officers were waiting for him upon the pier, standing beside two meek-mannered, plainly dressed youth whom Clover could only imagine were the servants of the local inn. Harriet waved him down, so he stepped off the boat at last, instantly feeling his knees turn to jelly after nearly a month of rocking about on an uncanny boat. As the two servants began carrying off his few boxes of medical supplies and herbs and charts and tools, all ready for the hunt ahead, Clover clapped the captain upon the shoulder. “You’ve done well. Thank you,” he said again. “Now, it is time to part.”

Harriet grinned, handing him a scrying scroll. “Call us when you need us. Try to be speedy about it, though; the king’s paying for our stay in Vale, and we’re not putting down our drinks until you give us a fair warning to,” she cackled. “Wouldn’t want to blast through the palace treasury while waiting for you.”

Clover rolled his eyes, but accepted the scroll anyways. There was a bloody thumbprint upon the top corner of the spelled parchment; before he could think twice, he unsheathed his pocketknife and pricked his thumb, waiting for the blood to well up before pressing his finger onto the page as well. The ritual was wordless, for he and the captain had done this far too many times already when he had been called down to Argus to hunt.

If he died, the scroll would burn away. Then, she could go back without their knight. If he was valiant in his journey, all he had to do was write her a message upon the parchment and it would appear upon her own copy, and the two could coordinate his retrieval then.

He just prayed that she wouldn’t one day wake up to find ash where the scroll had once been.

The sailors saluted him as he said his goodbyes, taking tall, proud steps down the pier. Another young woman, dressed in the same basic brown uniform as the other two youths who had moved his belongings off the pier, bowed deeply when he finally stepped off wooden planks and onto dry land. “Welcome to Patch, Lord Knight,” she murmured, tall lagomorph ears twitching through long brown hair as she spoke. “This way to the inn.”

He put on his best smile and murmured, “Thank you, miss. Please lead the way,” while trying to ignore the fact that he hadn’t washed properly in weeks and could _feel it._

As he walked through the town after the quiet young servant, however, a frown began to settle upon his face. The little portside town was nothing fancy, but it also looked nothing like he could have ever expected; there didn’t seem to be any sense of unease nor unrest anywhere. No damage could be seen, with all of the shops neatly maintained despite their plainness. What evidence of plundering was there from the scourge of this so-called monster of a shifter?

The moment he entered the inn, however, that discomfort was made tangible, real. He pulled out his crown-given purse for the journey, placing two gold pieces upon the counter for the innkeeper to take in with awe as Clover explained his needs for his stay. They weren’t too demanding; a hot bath to wash off a month’s worth of Grimm blood and ocean spray and stink; perhaps a hot meal. Maybe a map to a nearby plot of grass where he could lie down and just touch some dirt for a while, reconnect with the soil- pretend he didn’t have to get back onto a ship at the end of this mission for an even longer trip back to Solitas without Winter’s magic.

As a few servant boys dutifully began bustling around to fetch water for his bath, Clover leaned upon the countertop, lowering his voice. “And what do you know of this shifter that has brought such a plague upon this isle, my lord?” he asked smoothly, just loud enough for the innkeeper to hear. “I’ve heard tell of a foul beast who lives upon this land.”

To his surprise, the rotund man behind the counter looked genuinely confused. “A beast? Pardon me, milord, but we’ve no beast I’ve heard of in these parts,” the elder man said, face screwed up in thought.

Clover paused. “Really? No shifter? I’ve heard there is one pillaging and plundering offerings and pleasure houses alike, and-“

As he spoke, however, the innkeeper’s face began to grow darker. There was no repulsion in his eyes, just bitter, exhausted resignation; it was an odd look to wear when discussing a monster infesting a small community such as this one. “ _Ah,_ you mean the dragon.”

Despite his best efforts to remain calm, Clover felt himself pale slightly. “A dragon?”

The man shook his head. “You’re speaking of ol’ Branwen. Yeah, the beast does that every once in a while- it’s a right pain to clean up, especially after raking those talons through the walls, careless bastard.” His sigh carried more bitterness than anything else. “Last time he decided to bust in here, he nearly smashed the windows open with his wings. It’s a nuisance, I tell ya.”

The words were said so nonchalantly that Clover could only stare at the man. _…shouldn’t dragons be eliciting a greater response than sheer annoyance?_

One of the servant boys came around the bend in the hall, bowing towards Clover clumsily. The innkeeper clapped his hands in delight, announcing, “Ah, the bath is ready. Please, milord, enjoy, and do not hesitate to let me know if you should require anything else.”

The conversation was effectively over, so Clover smiled and nodded in thanks, slipping a few coppers to the servants as thanks for preparing his bath so quickly. He barely paid them any heed as they scuttled off to their rooms upstairs, too focused on mulling over the strange information the innkeeper had given him.

 _The dragon of Branwen, was it?_ He hoped that was indeed his target; he was not being commissioned to slay a veritable dragon, after all. _Perhaps the shifter takes on that form more often than others._

Either way, Clover would give himself the night to unwind, and then, his quest would begin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there!!!!

The island of Patch was breathtaking in a nostalgic, comforting way that Clover struggled to verbalize. From the moment he climbed up the long, steep road winding around the cliff side to take him to the main forest level, Clover found himself immersed in a sea of greens. The sunlight filtering through the canopy of airy trees filled him with joy, lightening the burden of the pack of supplies he carried upon his back; the idyllic surroundings made him almost forget the length of the journey awaiting him.

After all, his path would not be an easy one. After spending the morning scouting out the area and stocking up on last-minute essentials, he knew that his best bet would be to examine the small mountain at the southernmost tip of the island; dragons loved creating dens within mountains, but shifters enjoyed solitude, serenity where they did not have to maintain a guise for too long. If there was anywhere that was unpopulated, according to the innkeeper and the few servants Clover had managed to bribe into talking to him, that area of the island was his best bet in finding and creatures which longed to be alone.

Clover gulped, thinking back on the words Elm, Harriet’s quartermaster, had shared with him halfway through their journey upon the _Winter Maiden_. “Yer huntin’ down a shifter, aintcha?” the burly, confident woman had guffawed, hands on her hips with sweat shining on her brow, hair pushed up out bright eyes. “I’ve dealt with one, back when I was a kid.”

He had perked up, awaiting her response; however, as she began to speak, it had taken all of his strength to not sigh and wave off her words, for they weren’t helpful in the slightest. “That creature was a _mean_ one,” she had cackled, “and so easily able to transform- that one liked the form of a snake, so it was always slithering around, gobbling up the local kids- and when we finally managed to land an axe on it…” She shook her head, the memories clearly amusing despite the gruesome words spilling from her lips, “It got stuck halfway between transformations, and let me tell you, half-humans-half-snakes that aren’t lamia are _disgusting._ The bones don’t make sense, especially when Aura runs out or mana lines are cut!”

The woman had stopped her rambling thoughts only when Marrow had pleaded with her, the young man’s dark skin holding a greenish tint thanks to her visceral descriptions.

 _Of course, this one ends up being a shifter. Does it just enjoy turning into a dragon?_ Clover sighed, shaking his head. There was no point fretting, not while he still had the entire length of the island to cross. There were no paths coming around the south side of the isle to go directly there, so he had little choice but to traverse all of Patch from the north. Thankfully, the land was an easy trek, the ground level, the dirt roads packed and clearly maintained in order to sustain carriages and foot traffic alike; the beaten path felt safer than many areas Clover had explored around Argus on previous missions, that was for sure.

As time passed, the only problem he began encountering was not the wrath of fiends, but rather the sweltering heat. Even when protected by the rustling canopy above, the temperature which pervaded the island was something he would likely never become accustomed to; and, as he was on a journey to scout out the den of the beast, he was dressed in his plate armour, his greaves and boots clanking with every step he took. It quickly grew to be too much, and he found himself wishing that the inn had been located upon the main level of the island rather than by the port. That way, he would have at least been able to assess the shifter’s lair and then come back to retrieve his gear. As it was, he was forced to take it all with him, for the only way in which he would be able to reach the southernmost point of the isle is if he walked nearly nonstop for the rest of the day.

He wasn’t one of the greatest knights in Atlas for nothing, however; he quickly bit down on his annoyance and straightened himself up, plotting his route upon his map as he went. It was fruitless to complain, nor was this the most arduous journey he had ever undertaken; he would never really forgive the king for taking advantage of his innocent squiredom years ago and dragging him along on that godforsaken trek through the sands of the southwestern kingdom of Vacuo. Clover had never again been able to replicate the high of seeing the kingdom of Shade’s high walls for the first time, promising shelter from the desert demons and scorching sandstorms.

It was only when the sun began its downward arc that Clover realized that he was nearing some active homes. Along his journey, he had encountered numerous cottages and halls tucked between the trees; there were even a few signs leading to a larger village upon the northeast and central point of the isle. Clover didn’t bother stopping in, already having stocked up before his departure; according to the innkeeper by the port, there were no inns nor rest stops up there anyways, so all he could do was soldier on.

However, seeing completely isolated homes felt a little jarring. Clover frowned, quietly pulling out a small crystal from the talisman pouch around his neck. Without a word, he threw the shining, transparent gem upon the ground and crushed in under his heel, shuddering as the familiar pinpricks of magic coursed through him, covering him with a protecting coating. _They won’t see me with this,_ he sighed internally, continuing on his way. It was a little more reassuring to have the anonymity than to do without, and as he looked at his hands- or looked _through_ his hands, thanks to the bought spell- he wouldn’t be spotted as long as his armour didn’t make too much noise.

Eventually, Clover made his way into a peculiar clearing, finding a lovely little cottage that seemed well lived-in; clothes were hung up on a drying line behind the wooden building, a small flowerbed on one side of the house and a vegetable patch growing out back. Through the opened shutters, he could spot stuffed toys and feathery drapes.

On one hand it was a lovely, pastoral little home. On the other, Clover could not fight back the creeping dread that filled him from head to toe as he walked around the house at a wide berth, taking care to be as silent as possible. After all, how could a small family like the one he presumed to occupy that home survive on their own in a forest that was, as far as Clover could tell, still susceptible to the Grimm?

His answer arrived soon, just as he was stepping back into the forest. He heard a bell ring above a door, the side door of the home opening. Two little girls streaked out to play in the expanse behind the building, giggling and cheering in the cozy afternoon glow. Behind them was a tall, handsome blond carrying a laundry basket upon his hip, the man calling to the two girls, “Ruby, Yang, help me with the linens.”

Clover felt his concerns fade away as he recognized the symbol of two crossing axes surrounded by a wreath upon the man’s chest; he was a part of the Huntsman’s Guild in Vale. _No wonder he’s able to keep this place safe,_ he thought idly, smiling as he watched the smaller girl trip over herself, fall, then clumsily climb back to her feet with the help of the older girl. “Uncle Qwow is coming home!” the younger girl sang, a skip in her step and short brownish-red hair bobbing as she dragged a stool over to the clothesline. “Gotta make the bed, gotta make the bed!”

The older girl whooped at the other girl’s words. “Finally!” she squealed in excitement. “Dad, he’s been gone _forever!_ ”

The blond rolled his eyes, chiding the girls too quietly for Clover to hear, so Clover shook his head wryly and walked onwards on his path to the southern tip of the isle. The scene he had just seen could have been in a fairy tale; tranquility painted in the air thanks to the gentle, shimmering sunlight filtering in through the leaves, the light breeze ruffling the hair of the two children, the songbirds singing in the trees.

The world was beautiful. It was always a little shocking to see just how different that beauty could be outside of Atlas.

Still, he had a goal: reach the shifter’s den. There was no point in dallying about. Clover squinted into the distance, looking up at the peak of the mountain ahead; he would certainly be able to reach the base of the mountain by nightfall, probably even before then, but with the telltale sign of building clouds roiling up above the mountaintop, the day was quickly going to be running out. Perhaps he would be able to slay the beast by the time the moon shone in the sky, or perhaps it would be a long, wet night in a bivouac. Either way, he had a long ways to go.

At least Clover could say that his good sense was not failing him, for the gooseflesh rising along his skin, hairs lifting across the nape of his neck, only gave more credence to the theory that he would find the creature atop the mountain of Patch. The idyllic little cottage he had seen with the Huntsman and his daughters had been the last house along this road; now that it had been a good few hours of a trek past that lone home, the narrowing dirt road had given way to crumbling gravel, dense brush blocking the path in some parts. Thick brambles snaked up trees which seemed to grow darker, more oppressive, upon this side of the isle, and the very air seemed to shift and hang heavier than before, crackling with electricity from the brewing storm up above. Clover grit his teeth, rolling on ahead, for he did not want to be caught in the rain without his bearings if he could help it.

And then, he heard it; in the distance, the crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, and a screech so unholy that prayers to the Great Brothers above left Clover’s lips before he even knew what was happening. The sound was echoing from the other side of the mountain. _Well,_ he thought grimly, pulling out Kingfisher and slicing through the stalk of a giant, man-sized fern which had been blocking the road, _lucky guess for me, huh? Aim was correct as usual._ He grimaced, mentally preparing himself for the journey ahead as he saw the abrupt end of the paved road before him. He would have to stomp through forest to get there. _Let’s just get this over with._


	5. Chapter 5

For the first time throughout this entire journey, Clover finally understood why King Ironwood had been so insistent on sending _him_ to Patch in order to slay this demon; if the land itself was not cursed- although how could it _not_ be, with everything going wrong like this?- and the circumstances were all purely coincidence, Clover could scarcely imagine how terrible the journey would have been for someone without his uncannily good luck.

 _Perhaps I’ve missed another road,_ he thought glumly, squinting into the distance. From where he stood at the edge of the mountain, it was clear that there was some kind of beaten path upon the cliff face above, but he had yet to find anything but thick underbrush and brambles and densely forested pathways, gnarled roots and low-hanging branches blocking his every step. There was no way of knowing where the proper road had begun, for wherever it was, Clover could not see it.

As the daylight began to wane, so too did his patience. The thick canopy above gave him some reprieve as he reached the shadow of the small mountain, helping him cool off after the sweltering day wearing his armour. However, it was not with glee that he noted the rapidly-cooling weather, for the storm up above began to crackle and thunder with more ferocity than before. Thankfully, the mighty rains always brought by seaside thunderstorms had been focusing its assault upon the south side of the mountain, keeping him relatively protected, but if he dawdled for too long he would not be safe from the storm. _At least I do not have a companion with me. Being courteous is the last thing I need to worry about,_ he thought wearily.

He cut through the invasive vines and carved a path through the trees for what felt like hours, only to eventually stumble upon a small, well-hidden pathway that snaked up the mountainside. That victory only lasted a few minutes, however, when a well-timed lightning strike landed upon a tree further up the slope; the trunk fell in a blaze of cinders and fury as it tore down other trees in its path, culminating in a smoldering pile of burning oak and cedar blocking his path. It would be impossible to clear; he did not have the tools, nor the time and energy required to deal with it.

The only way around it all was to scale the mountainside momentarily; Clover skirted the mess and managed to rejoin the main path thanks to his agility and strength, barely maintaining his balance upon the steep slope. A lesser man would not have been able to proceed, but his sheer frustration and discomfort, and likely his luck as well, spurred him onwards safely.

The only true respite he had was that he did not encounter any Grimm along the way. It was a strange thing, to be able to walk in a wood without fearing the monsters of shadow, but Clover took it in stride, grateful for the reprieve he was able to glean from the lack of constant combat. He needed to save whatever strength he had for the battle ahead, after all.

At last, he saw it- his goal. Just as he had suspected, just above the halfway point of the mountain was the entrance to a small cave, only a few hundred yards down the small pathway. The sight of it lit a fire in his heart; he quickly downed a weak restorative potion, sighing happily as minor cuts and bruises began to heal upon his body. For a moment, he simply removed his helm and ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, relishing in the crackling chill of the air. He needed to calm his heart before arriving at the cave entrance, for if everyone’s fears and Clover’s assumptions were correct, then he would have the fight of his life on his hands very soon.

 _I’m ready,_ he thought as he replaced his helm and finally clambered up the road, determination filling his heart with such a high that he felt his chest rise in pride. Kingfisher appeared in his hands, and he let out a long, quiet sigh, centering himself as he pressed the flat of the blade against his forehead. _For the king._

The outside of the cave was set into the mountain face ominously, the large entrance covered in drooping vines and the roots of the aged trees growing all around them, hanging low like rattails dripping dirt and rainwater upon the moss-covered entranceway. It was wide enough for a decently-sized beast to fit inside. There was a faint light within the cave, but no sound; Clover peered into the cavern, eyeing the shadows suspiciously. He could spot no sign of movement, no sign of life, other than that light.

Pulling out the pouch around his neck once more, he pulled out another invisibility-spelled gem; the other’s power had faded a few hours earlier, but it was necessary now more than ever, so he crushed it under his heel without a second thought. As his skin crackled and magic began to cover his entire body, reflecting the surrounding light and causing his form to disappear from even his own eyes, he cast a glance behind him, a stray thought entering his mind which only added to his trepidation.

_Why is there a pathway built into the mountainside if it can just fly up here?_

There were only grim answers awaiting that errant thought. _Does it charm people to come to its lair? Does it bear slaves? Does it keep this path to give its victims hope of escaping?_ Clover had seen far too many twisted things done by Grimm and monster alike in the past, so his expectations were nothing if not terrible. However, he had no choice but to bite back his conjecture and go forward. He had a job to do.

From the moment he stepped into the cave, he felt himself be dragged to his knees, a wave of energy and force washing over him and holding him down. His gauntlets slammed against moss-covered stone, the sound barely muffled by the greenery, echoing throughout the cavern; as he gasped for air and looked down at his hands, he realized that the invisibility was fading away, leeching off, being absorbed by the very moss and stone upon which he stood.

 _Okay, it’s spelled against magic to be used inside its lair. Fantastic._ Mouth pressed grimly into a line, Clover felt the last of the hiding spell’s effects drain off of him, the weight of the magical charm’s pull finally leaving his shoulders. He staggered to his feet, awaiting the footsteps, the grating shriek of the shifter which he had presumably heard on his way there.

Nothing.

The storm had finally, truly hit the north-facing side of the mountain; rainfall began to crash down upon the trees, echoing through the cave with roaring, raging intensity that only built up as time passed. It nipped at his heels, daring him to leave the cave’s relative protection once again. He did not exactly want to be caught in the tempest; so, with no other choice but to proceed onwards, he took his first steps into the monster’s lair, approaching that light flickering in the distance with steely resolve and heightened awareness in his heart, Kingfisher sitting comfortably within his grasp. His armour clinked, the sound carrying throughout the cave, but there was nothing he could do about that; he had a silencing gem somewhere in his pack, but with the dispelling quality of the very stone of the cavern, there was no point in hunting for it.

Finally, he reached the corner behind with the light source was shining. Holding his breath, he listened, awaiting any telltale sign of life waiting to ambush him.

Nothing.

With a flourish of his sword, he stepped around the corner, only to feel his arm drop limply at his side as surprise and confusion took over his entire body.

Shifters did spend much of their time in human form to trick their prey, he knew; but why was the cave furnished like a small, cozy, _human_ dwelling?

Clover felt his feet lock into place as his eyes slowly roved over each detail in sight. The light was coming from a small lantern, lit using a long-lasting electric-Dust crystal. It cast a homey yellow glow upon stone walls so smooth it could not have been done naturally; underneath the lantern was a small mossy area, only occupied in one corner by a simple pair of pattens big enough for a man. Past the shoes was a small wooden wardrobe with iron-wrought handles, and just past that was a small writing desk below numerous shelves built into the wall, all filled with inkwells and scrolls and sheafs of parchment, with beautifully-bound books residing upon the highest shelf. Based on the barest overview of the titles upon the spines, the books seemed to be academia-related, all focused on Dust manipulation and crystal control.

He let out a haggard breath, finally stepping further into the cave. Around another corner, there was what could only be a small kitchen; a furnace, its pipe going right into the wall, stood in the corner of this larger space with glowing embers in the hearth, shining red through blackened iron grills. A small dining table accompanied by four chairs, two of which had small silken cushions stacked high upon them, stood in the center of this new space. Clover almost laughed when he saw a utilitarian cooling box, probably lined with ice-Dust, on the floor, alongside a small washing sink and a stack of bowls of different sizes. Walking up to the counter, he froze, taking in the tiny, child-sized sets of cutlery and plates and mugs set into another shelf carved into the stone, painted with dainty pink and red and yellow unlike the plain chestnut brown of the rest of the bowls and plates.

 _Am I breaking into someone’s home?_ Clover thought, absolutely baffled as he turned to see another tall shelf, this time covered in bottles of various shapes and sizes. He snorted involuntarily as he recognized one bottle; it was from a famous Valean winery, one which he knew King Ironwood was particularly partial to. The entire collection upon that shelf could have gotten an entire platoon completely intoxicated.

There was a curtain at the back of this kitchen area, a warm glow coming from within. He peeked past the gossamer material, gawping at two lantern-lit beds covered in pillows and stuffed toys and colourful sheets. _Who in the world lives here?_ The room was filled with the scent of dust, so it likely hadn’t been occupied in the past weeks, at least.

Pulling his head back out, he turned his attention to the final two points of interest in the room, two wooden doors; one led to a small lavatory, whilst the other led to a short hallway, ended by yet another door.

Clover paused for a moment at the end of this final, short corridor, his hands reaching out for the knob. If this shifter truly favoured the form of a dragon, did it also keep a hoard? The thought of bringing back treasure on top of the shifter’s head to present to the king was an alluring one; however, unlike dragons and their penchant for gold, he did not know what to expect from the den of a shifter.

 _Is this even a shifter’s home?_ he thought, unease and disbelief fully in control of his heart. _Those two beds looked like they belonged to children, and nothing has seemed out of place. A hermit could live here with their young ones, for all I know. What is this place?_

Still, he had come too far to turn back now. Before he could waste any more time, he turned the handle and pushed open the door.

This room, like all the others, was illuminated by electric-Dust inlaid into lanterns upon the wall; however, unlike everything else, this was a veritable _cavern._ Clover craned his neck upwards, holding Kingfisher at the ready in case a creature was hiding in the shadows above, for the ceiling was too high for the light to penetrate, casting the upper echelons of the chamber in complete darkness. He heard no noises, no movement, however, so he was able to turn to look at the rest of the room, the contents of which were frankly baffling.

There was a single large bed with plain sheets spread messily upon the mattress in the back of the rounded cavern. Beside the bed was an armoire on one side, a nightstand on the other, with a capped, clear crystalline bottle of amber liquid sitting upon it next to a small tumbler. Across the room was another door with a window carved into it, covered by glass; even from where he stood, Clover could tell that it lead outside, meaning it was an easy entrance for the shifter outside of the mountain path. It appeared to be human-sized, though, with no other exits for the veritable beast he had been preparing for throughout the past month.

What _wasn’t_ normal, however, was the shifter’s true bed, which took up the majority of the room. It was not a pile of golden treasures reflecting the light and illuminating the room as Clover had quietly hoped; no, it was nothing but a mass of tree branches and moss and feathers, the outside filled with jagged edges and spiked wood, rising to Clover’s eye level. There were numerous rocks encircling the intricately-woven pile, supporting the base, so Clover sucked in a breath, steeled himself, and climbed onto one of the rocks, peeking over the edge of the pile- it was a basin, a basket of sorts, lined with giant, arm-sized feathers and mossy ferns in a thick layer, covering a neatly-woven interior.

It was a giant bird’s nest.

Clover was suddenly very, very tired- not of the magical kind, but purely through exasperation and annoyance. Why was there a _bird’s nest?_ Wasn’t he supposed to be slaying a dragon-like creature? Wasn’t that what the innkeeper had described, with wings and talons and-

_Oh, Brothers above. I have to kill a bird._

He was _so tired._

A small wooden chest, built in the plainest fashion Clover had ever seen, sat in the corner of the room. Stepping down from the stone foothold, he carefully walked over, sliding Kingfisher back into its sheath as he knelt down to examine the chest. It was large enough to fit a decent sum inside, tall enough to reach his knee; so, after checking the mechanism for any spells or wards or traps, he carefully unclasped the lid and pushed it back, bracing himself for the treasures- or the monsters- within.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he groaned.

Inside the chest, after all of the mystery and confusion, were four gold pieces. Two pathetic coppers sat in the corner. A slightly-bent silver coin was jammed into the corner of the box, looking almost forgotten, abandoned.

Clover carried nearly ten times as much in his purse at the moment, with more in the inn.

Suddenly, Clover felt the cool sting of metal at his throat, the touch finding itself lodged perfectly in the chink in his armour between his collarbone and his helm; he clenched his teeth, stilling instantly as a low, husky voice growled, “So why’s there an intruder in my home, hm?”

Clover’s mind was racing as he analyzed his options. One wrong move, and the sword could easily slice open his neck. Kingfisher was in its sheath, and drawing it would take too much room, room he did not have kneeling in front of the chest.

Silently, he raised his hands, carefully pivoting around on his knee to look at his assailant, wincing as the blade of the speaker’s weapon cut lightly into his skin; he kept his smile amicable and light, bringing his eyes up to look at the speaker.

It wasn’t a monster, nor a dragon, nor a demon bird-human hybrid as he had feared after Elm’s tales of snake-shifters. Instead, it was just a man- a proud, straight nose set over thin lips twisted in a scowl, clean brows furrowed in suspicion, red eyes glimmering dangerously in the light through full, dark lashes and grey-streaked, short-cropped black hair. Gaunt cheeks and a sharp jawline covered with stubble were accentuated by the lanterns’ light, the shadows cast on his face nowhere near enough to change the fact that Clover’s heart leapt up into his throat, breath catching, as he realized that the man standing before him was decidedly handsome- and, as the man’s lips shifted into a snarl, bared forearms flexing as he held the hilt of a massive, red-stained claymore, that this man was going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clover just tried to rob a broke drunkle bird??? what a dick amirite


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the jig is up ayyyy
> 
> Leave a comment if you're reading along! It makes my day :)

The bag in the stranger’s hand dropped to the floor with a thud as the man pressed the claymore closer to Clover’s skin. On instinct, Clover raised his hands in peace, saying gently, “I’m not looking for a fight. May we talk?”

The man’s nostrils flared in annoyance, his snarl staying firmly fixed in place. Menacing, grim hatred oozed out of every pore. “You weren’t looking for a fight while armed head to toe, huh? You seem pretty prepared for someone rifling through my belongings.”

“…fair point,” the knight conceded, not breaking eye contact. _Brothers,_ the man had spell-binding eyes- they were so starkly _red_ that it was almost unsettling. “May I stand?”

“May I gut you? I’ve been looking for an excuse to get a new chest- covering the old one with blood is as good a reason as any.” He glanced mournfully at the ground at Clover’s feet. “It’ll be awful getting the stains off the floor before the girls visit again, though.”

Clover sighed, mind racing- and yet, he did not feel ill at ease. There was something strangely familiar, strangely comforting about the other man’s presence. Perhaps the man was a healer, or some kind of cleric for his mere presence to be enough to calm Clover down despite his aggression-

Then, Clover froze. _Wait. This is_ his _home. This man is the shifter- he’s the dragon, he has to be._ What was he supposed to say? ‘ _Excuse me sir, pardon the intrusion, I’ve come to slay you by order of the King-‘_

The blade dug a little closer. “One wrong move and I slice,” the stranger hissed.

He didn’t have much time; the man’s proverbial hackles were raising, the air between them crackling with just as much electricity building up by the heartbeat. It would ignite in a flash if he was not careful, but Kingfisher could not be drawn in such a cornered space- what could he say?

 _Bluff,_ his brain told him feverishly. _Bluff. That’s why they sent_ you.

It was true. Clover had always been a lucky one. He could pull it off; he could survive. He just needed to be careful.

Clearing his throat carefully, he took in a deep breath, then announced, “I’m taking off my helm.”

The stranger, thankfully, did not cut him when he pulled off his helmet, exposing his face. No amount of armour could protect him from this man’s blade, so it was better to appeal to him for now- just long enough to find an opportunity to fight back. Clover plastered on the most sincere, sweet grin he could muster. “I’m sorry for entering your home. I did not know it belonged to a man- I was sent here on a mission.”

For a moment, the stranger paused, studying Clover’s face intently. Clover swallowed, throat thick, feeling those red eyes bore holes into him, picking out every imperfection upon his sweat-streaked brow. Finally, he said, “A mission to do _what?_ Take the four coins in my chest? I don’t exactly have treasures to steal for your lord.”

He chuckled wryly. “No. I was told I need to… _find…_ a shi- a dragon.”

The man froze, blinking at him. In his confusion, he relaxed, lowering his claymore slightly. “A dragon? There ain’t no dragons around here. You sure you have the right island,” he paused, looking Clover over again from head to toe, “my good Atlesian knight?”

Despite his desire to remain calm, there was a spark of relief that exploded in his heart when he realized that the man’s weapon was falling to his side. “You recognize my crest?” he asked, puffing his chest out slightly.

To his surprise, the stranger merely rolled his eyes and slung the claymore back into a long scabbard at his hip. “Of course I know that crest- old Jimmy’s ostentatious as ever.”

“Jimmy?” For a few moments, Clover could not process what he meant. When he did, however, he bristled instantly, standing up at last and resting his hand upon the hilt of Kingfisher. “I hope you do not mean-“

“His Majesty, King James Ironwood, fair and rightful ruler to the kingdom of Atlas and all of the ice and snow and stuffiness which lies within it, yeah yeah,” the man brushed off airily. “We’re old pals, okay? Used to work for the same guy.” He knelt down to retrieve the bag by his feet, the contents of which had scattered out of the canvas upon impact. “Sorry if I offended you, good knight. I just can’t be asked to care about his title. He’s still a dumbass sometimes.”

Clover spluttered, wrapping his fingers around the hilt, tensing to draw. “How _dare you-“_

“Enter _my home?_ I know, the audacity of some people. I should be asking you that,” the man hissed, and suddenly, Clover could not breathe with fingers- no, _talons-_ around his throat, picking up all six-plus feet of him with such ease that terror coursed through his veins. _This- this is actually the power of a shifter,_ Clover realized, utterly horrified _._ How powerful was this creature? If those talons were indeed his, then what form did the shifter truly occupy? Was it truly a bird?

The image of a demonic, blood-soaked hawk with crimson eyes made him feel faint.

The man sucked air through his teeth, annoyed, before dropping Clover back to the floor just as the knight’s head was growing foggy with lack of air. “You made me mess up the gifts,” the man groaned, turning back to the bag upon the ground. “I swear, if anything’s broken-“

“I’ll get out of your way soon, but where do I find the dragon of Branwen?” Clover spat out hoarsely, massaging his throat as he staggered to his feet once again, glowering at the man. “I’m here on a mission. If you know His Majesty, then you know he does not send knights across the seas lightly; if you help me I shall be on my way.”

Red eyes turned to look at him over a broad shoulder, but now, there was no animosity- only pure, unadulterated incredulity. “Did you just say ‘dragon of _Branwen’_?”

“What does it matter to you, good _sir_?” Clover spat, biting back the word _shifter_ with all its might. _I need to get his guard down. I need to strike when he’s vulnerable,_ he thought, pushing aside the creeping doubts in his heart the best he could. _If he’s powerful enough to pick me up without strain, then I cannot take his strength lightly._

And yet, his doubt continued to scream, to beg him to escape and regroup. _Why would he know King Ironwood?_ his mind cried. _Why would King Ironwood associate with a shifter? Why would King Ironwood send me here, knowing the target?_

It took a few moments for the stranger to gather up the individually wrapped items and place them behind the human-sized bed in the opposite end of the room before he called out to Clover, grabbing his attention. “Come to the sitting area, Mr. Knight,” the man growled, pointing at the door. “It’s not ladylike to gossip in someone’s bedroom.” At Clover’s baffled expression, he shrugged, a strangely-coy smile on his lips. “You haven’t even attempted to court me. You can’t snoop around in my bedroom like this, it’s not proper etiquette. Does Jimmy not care about manners anymore?”

Heat rose to Clover’s cheeks unbidden, but he reached down, grabbed his helm, and strode towards the door as instructed. The stranger followed him, his rough voice relaxing slightly in light laughter as he chuckled, “Oh calm down. Glad to see that Atlas is as uptight as ever.”

Clover wanted to retort with all his heart, but what in the world was he to say to this… this creature?

And so, Clover found himself seated upon a chair at the man’s dining table, a cup of herbal tea in front of him. The stranger had stoked the fire, bringing it up to a comfortable blaze within the hearth. “Take off your armour. No point in overheating; the fire should be good enough to keep you warm if you’re worried. This isn’t Atlas’ and its snow.” It was maddening- how could Clover respond to that?

Still, after some deadpan stares from the elder, Clover finally gave in despite all of his better judgement. His breast plate was cast off, his gauntlets removed, mail and greaves and all protective gear laid neatly in the foyer. While it certainly did feel nicer, his skin finally getting the chance to _breathe_ after the excruciatingly-long hike of the day _,_ every fiber of his being was absolutely horrified at the implications of being at the mercy of the shifter before him.

 _This is absolutely insane,_ his mind kept repeating as he unbuckled straps and shucked off his sweater, leaving him in his thinner tunic and breeches. _You’re leaving yourself open._

Before he could scold himself too deeply, the stranger finally took a seat opposite to Clover. “Okay. So. Tell me again what you’re doing here, and what the hell this ‘dragon of Branwen’ business is about,” he asked, wrapping long, elegant fingers around his own ceramic mug of tea.

Clover sighed, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. _How do I explain this?_ After a long, quiet moment, he straightened his back and murmured, “Do you know of Ozpin?”

Crimson eyes narrowed at him suspiciously as the man leaned back in his chair, ignoring the protesting wood. “Of course I know Oz,” he growled. “What the hell does he have anything to do with you climbing my mountain and breaking into my house?”

“It wasn’t intentional-“

“Keep talking or I’ll finish what I started earlier,” the man said menacingly.

Clover’s eye twitched, indignation at the sheer disrespect stifled by his keen awareness. He needed to remain calm. “He sent a missive to King Ironwood, stating that they needed help finding someone described as… as a shifter,” he finished. “I was chosen to represent the kingdom of Atlas. When I arrived, the people described this figure as a dragon-“

“’Dragon’ my ass.” The man rolled his eyes and reached into his tunic, pulling out a small, flat stone. Clover’s eyes honed in on the scrying stone, breath catching in his throat- how in the world would it work in a place spelled to drain away any magic?

And yet, the stone seemed to work fine as the stranger held the stone up against his lips, whispering activating words of power until the stone began to glow a menacing, blood-curdling red; one which matched the man’s glowering eyes.

Then, the stone began to glow white. “Qrow, to what do I owe this pleasure?” a calm, soothing voice echoed from the stone, tinny thanks to the magic transmitting it across the world.

Clover’s hands tightened around the mug of undrunk tea as the man before him- Qrow, it seemed- sighed, replying, “Oz, what the hell did you get Jimmy to do now?!”

 _Oz? Does he mean Opzin? Is he_ calling _the king’s advisor?_ But Vale was far too distant for a scrying stone’s spells to reach; they barely worked from one end of King Ironwood’s castle to the other, even with Winter’s magical prowess. Who had spelled this stone?

And to be calling him so casually, who was this shifter?

“Ah!” A certain sense of glee entered Ozpin’s voice. “Has James’ knight reached you?”

Qrow cast a deadened look towards Clover. “Uh-huh. Why has he sent someone?” His words were so weary that Clover merely sipped the tea to avoid eye contact, mind still racing with so many questions that he had no idea where to even begin unravelling it all. “If you needed something, you could’ve just called.”

Ozpin did not answer that question; instead, curiously enough, the other man asked with a tinge of amusement, “Is she beautiful?”

“It’s a man.”

“Oh, well then… is he handsome? I told James to send someone attractive. And nice, too. Is he nice?”

Immediately, Clover spit out his tea onto his own lap while an unholy squawk ripped through Qrow’s throat, strangled and horrified. “Excuse me, but _what?!_ ”

Clover could only cough, thumping his chest with his hand as Ozpin laughed. “Oh, goodness. Is he there with you? I should’ve checked.” Without missing a beat, the man continued, “To the good knight in the room, please don’t _actually_ go through with your mission to slay the shifter, alright? I apologize for the deception, but it needed to be done to convince James to send someone for what I was actually hoping to accomplish. I pray that you are up to the task, sir knight.”

Before Clover’s very eyes, a large hand morphed into a ball of long, extending talons, inky black feathers beginning to sprout from a pale wrist as Qrow growled, “So you were sent here to _kill me_? Alright, explain-“

Clearing his throat clumsily, Clover cried overtop of Qrow, “Then- then what am I here for?”

“Check your mission,” Ozpin said airily.

Trading baffled looks with the shifter, Clover pulled out the original missive handed to him by the king, bearing Ozpin’s seal and the crest of the kingdom of Vale. He had never opened the sealed package, for it was not his to see- up until that point, he had made do with the letter from the king, rather than the letter from Ozpin- but now, he no longer cared for formal procedure, tearing it open without hesitation.

The words on the page began as Clover’s original mission; slay the shifter which had been ailing the island of Patch. However, the longer he stared at it, the more the words began to shift, almost mirage-like as letters began to morph, ink traveling through the fibers of the page itself to reform into new, far more horrifying letters. _It was spelled to read differently,_ Clover realized dimly. _The wards against foreign magic within this dwelling are causing the illusion to fade._ As he read through the newly-revealed contents frantically, his mouth fell open, jaw slack, heart rising into his throat.

_My mission is to stay upon Patch and ‘lighten the woes of the shifter Qrow Branwen’ until he is ‘willing to return to Beacon Academy’?_

“This cannot be real,” he breathed, but no matter how many times he reread the original request, the words did not change again. This was the true message. How could he have endured so much for such a-

Ozpin hummed, portraying all the calm and tranquility which Qrow and Clover could not display in the slightest in the moment. “So Qrow, you never answered. Did James truly send a handsome knight? Glynda has been wondering, too.” To Clover, he added, “I did include that in the original request, sir knight. Take it as a compliment that you were chosen!”

Clover didn’t respond, merely allowing his forehead to fall forwards, landing with a thud upon the edge of the dining table. _Brothers,_ Clover was so, so tired.


	7. Chapter 7

The formerly-cozy living room felt cold, deadened thanks to the hearth that had long since fizzled into mere embers; the duo seated at the table were too shaken to bother to add more wood to the flame, leaving a chill to sweep over them both. The cold was outweighed by the silence, however, the only sound audible to their ears being the distant echoing of heavy rainfall upon the forest outside the cave. It made the air dark, heavy, the Dust lanterns nowhere near enough to lighten the atmosphere.

The only saving grace of the entire situation was that this shapeshifter, Qrow, seemed just as uncomfortable with the entire situation as he was, if not more; the elder had quietly poured himself a glass of scotch, sipping it while staring soullessly at the embers in the hearth the moment the connection to Ozpin had been cut off. He was now upon his fourth or fifth glass- Clover could not be certain, for he had lost track of Qrow’s movements long before. Clover could not blame him for the indulgence, his own mind still turning the facts over and over again, his eyes tracing each letter upon the dispelled missive until it was engrained into the back of his eyelids.

Ozpin’s request had been simple. “I know that incident in Beacon was… not ideal,” the man had stated gently, “but you know it was not due to your negligence. There was no way to have known what would happen.”

 _Incident?_ Clover had waited for an explanation, but none ever came; Qrow had merely growled back, “You know that ain’t true, Oz-“

“You’ve been isolating yourself on Patch again for the past few months, haven’t you? I wanted to send someone who might lift your spirits. We miss you on our staff, you know. You’re one of our best professors.” He paused. “Maybe don’t tell Peter that, though.”

After that, small talk had ensued, asking questions about someone named Taiyang and of some people whom Clover could only assume were old students of Qrow’s, leaving Clover to tune out the conversation in favour of sorting out his thoughts.

 _So King Ironwood was tricked by his old friend, the Royal Advisor for the Kingdom of Vale, Ozpin, into sending a-_ and he groaned, massaging his temples for the sheer stupidity of it all- _‘pleasing’ knight all the way to this isle in order to not slay the shapeshifter, but to…_ He raised his head, watching the handsome man before him whisper angrily into the scrying stone, _to convince him to go back to work? How is this supposed to work?_

Before he could voice any of his concerns, however, Ozpin finally addressed Clover once more. “Sir Knight,” the wizard called, catching Clover’s attention, “do remember, your duty is to uphold your oath.”

 _Brothers,_ he wanted to snarl back; he wanted to protest and plead, to turn down this ridiculous request and storm out of the cave the moment he could. This was not what he was here to do. And yet, as his mouth fell open, ready to retaliate, he found that the words were nowhere to be found, his tongue empty; he had indeed promised to his king to uphold what was written upon the request. Had it been deceptive? Yes. Was Clover the right person for it? No.

However, the kingdoms of Atlas and Vale had been allies for far too long for him to throw a wrench in it now by refusing a request from Vale’s Royal Advisor- certainly not one as gifted in magecraft as it seemed Opzin was, considering the strength of the scrying stone. There was no way he could ever put his kingdom in jeopardy due to his ego. He had become a knight to protect the weak and bring honour upon his king, and protect his king’s honour is what he would do.

So, he simply sighed, more exhausted by this ludicrous turn of events than any battle upon the _Winter Maiden_ over the past month.

Now that the conversation was over, Clover had only one thing to do: figure out how to help this strange shifter with whatever was the issue. He would not return to Solitas without completing his mission, whether he liked it or not.

As he opened his mouth to speak, however, Qrow stopped him, holding out one finger to silence him. Then, he tilted his head back and began to drink down the rest of the scotch in one go, silently downing it as if out of anger. Clover watched, eyes transfixed on the pale skin upon an Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow, contrasting strangely beautifully with the dark walls of the cavern.

Only when the glass had been emptied did Qrow slur, “Well, my good knight-“

“Sir Clover Ebi, Knight of Mantle,” Clover supplied. When the other man raised an unimpressed brow, Clover felt himself having to fight the urge to shrink back, to hide from his judgement, as he added, “You should know my name, at least. You are Qrow, correct?”

“…Qrow Branwen,” the man repeated. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 _Branwen- oh Brothers, he must think I’m such a fool-_ If Clover could bury himself in shame, he would have.

The other man set down his short glass with a thud, reaching his hand out across the table. If an hour ago, the man had tried to touch him, Clover would have hesitated, too focused on the potential of talons rending his flesh like the demon he had been led to believe lurked in this mountain; however, Clover shook it now amicably, his concerns dispelled now that he knew that there would be no physical violence between the two. His touch was cool, palm callused and strong, fitting well within Clover’s grip.

The moment they released each other’s hands, however, Qrow jabbed his thumb towards the door. “Well. Lovely introductions. Get out of my house.”

Clover froze, his smile growing stilted in a heartbeat. “You… what?”

Qrow stood, stumbling a little; it was clear that consuming all of that scotch had not been the best plan, for his smile grew predatory, threatening, unfiltered. “I said you should leave. You’re not here to kill me, right? Oz is just being a meddling old man. Let me live.”

Clover gawped at him, slowly climbing to his feet. “I… I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “I took an oath to my liege to see this through-“

“And I’m sayin’ you can report to your favourite lil’ Jimmy-“

“I’d ask that you refrain from calling him that-“

“Oh what- _ever,_ ” Qrow growled, nails beginning to extend into long, pointed, demonic black talons, “I’ve worked missions with your king when he was just a squire. Don’t try and tell me what to call him.”

 _This churlish ingrate-_ He bit back his anger and maintain his pleasantries, taking a deep breath before replying, “Look. Lord Branwen-“

The man gagged.

“Alright, _Qrow_. May I ask you something?”

“If it’s about my desires to ‘befriend’ you or about how I’m a scary ‘dragon’, then no.”

Clover frowned, crossing his arms and perching against the ledge of the kitchen table. “Okay, no, actually, I would frankly quite like to know. I spoke to the innkeeper by the port- what is this of you ‘destroying walls with your talons’? ‘Smashing windows with your wings’? What is this about?”

The deathly, blood-red glare sent his way likely could have broken a lesser man. The shifter snarled, “You get drunk _once_ at the pub, I _swear-_ “

 _He just got drunk? What?_ “It wasn’t only the innkeeper, though. What my liege informed me of your actions were… concerning.”

“Whatever Oz told His Royal Highness Jimmy doesn’t matter-“

“You’ve seduced and kidnapped women?”

To his surprise, Qrow balked at that, eyes growing wide- and a flush stained his skin, creeping up from his neck and onto his cheeks, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m an unwed man, what’s your issue?” he spat. “What, may shifters not court anyone in the hallowed halls of Atlas?”

Clover felt himself blush in response, realizing just what had gotten skewed in Ozpin’s request to James, embarrassment and courtly propriety assaulting any dignity he could have hoped to retain. “Oh- um- well-“ he fumbled, desperately trying to remember what else he had heard from Winter’s report, “-what of the reports of the shifter’s pillaging of villages?”

Qrow sighed, tottering back to his seat so he could hold onto the back of the wooden chair with hands that had morphed halfway into claws, long nails black and feathered knuckles growing larger and then smaller, the constant transfiguration making Clover almost queasy. The scotch was clearly having a toll on him- perhaps Qrow had not eaten beforehand, or perhaps he was ill, but either way, Clover felt a rising need to _back away_ with how feral he seemed to grow _-_ but he still managed to reply acerbically, “What pillaging? I’m one of the only damned Huntsmen in Patch- all I have time to do is kill the Grimm which spawn here in the nights! There’s nothing to pillage anyways but bumpkins and taverns! What do you think I do-”

“You don’t steal from taverns?”

Qrow squatted down, his shifting hands covering his face in pure disbelief and exasperation. “I’m going to fly over and hunt down Oz for this,” he muttered, voice muffled and horrified. “I cannot believe- the au- the adi- the _audacity-“_

Suddenly, Clover could no longer breathe, talons wrapping around his chest and dragging him backwards. For a moment, Clover felt the world disappear as his vision fell apart, consciousness crumbling within the sudden hold, the only sensation remaining a grey buzzing whilst his hair flew around his face; then suddenly, he was lucid once again, now standing within the giant cavern in which he had originally met Qrow.

Standing atop the giant bird’s nest was a creature so tall its head extended into the shadows of the upper cavern. All Clover could see for a moment were two enormous claws, each talon perfect for piercing through armour- just one foot could easily wrap around his torso and crush him into nothing. At the base of each four-pronged foot was a mass of pitch-black feathers the length of Clover’s forearm, each feather growing longer and shinier the higher Clover’s gaze travelled up a towering, avian body, two wings spreading out from one end of the cavern to another, drowning out the light of the Dust crystals and surrounding Clover in inky darkness.

Suddenly, one claw shifted in the nest, allowing the head of the creature to come flying down towards Clover. His breath caught in his throat, horror filling out every pore as a red eye bigger than his own fist peered inches away from his face. Hot breath from the creature’s nostrils, slits placed high upon a curved, flesh-rending beak, landed upon his face whilst the creature examined him from head to toe. His instincts were telling him to flee, for this was a fight he would never win, especially unarmed and without his armour. He could never conquer this beast that was so grand it put Nevermore Grimm to shame.

Once he found his voice again, Clover murmured, “You’re not a dragon- you’re a _crow?_ ”

In response, the monstrous bird reared its head back and let out a mighty, shrieking caw that tore through the air, reverberating through Clover’s very bones. His hands flew to his ears, desperate to block it out; alas, his actions were to no avail, the soundwaves causing his teeth to chatter and the very stone beneath his feet to quake.

It wasn’t just the cavern that shook, however. As the echoes from the unholy screech died out, a faint crashing sound echoed in the distance. Clover ignored it at first- it was hard to focus upon anything when a giant crow was standing two paces away- but the bird’s reaction caught his attention. In the blink of an eye, the body of the crow seemed to glow with red light- and then, Qrow was in its place, clumsily stumbled to the door set at the back of the cavern. The shifter yanked it open, sticking his head out of the frame, his motions frantic and weary.

And then, he let out another cry. However, this was not of anger or rage; it was of a gut-shattering _heartbreak,_ the sound one might make when angry at the whole world for simply _existing._ “My goddamned _luck!”_ the shifter screamed.

Clover winced as the sound of another lightning strike, another thunderclap, another tree crashing into the forest eliciting yet more bitter wails. He didn’t entirely understand what was going on, but he found that the main emotion welling up in his heart was, oddly enough, pity.

If luck was the issue, perhaps Clover had been the right person to send, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Clover was unsure of what to do as he took in the distress painted clear as day upon Qrow’s face. “Um… is everything… alright?”

Qrow simply slammed the door shut after a moment, annoyance and frustration plain as day upon his face, tiny rivulets of water running down his cheeks from where the stormy rains had struck him. The force of his swing was clearly too much, merely sending the door bouncing back wide open, a gust of icy wind roaring through the cave and stirring some of the branches woven in the nest, much Qrow’s obvious chagrin. “A set of trees fell onto the walking path up here,” he cried, voice hitching. There was no anger there- only distress. “No one can come up anymore.”

 _And I can’t escape anymore,_ Clover thought, his heart plummeting to the floor. A part of him had still been praying for Qrow to give him the opportunity to simply walk out, to report back to King Ironwood exactly what had transpired here, for this had been nothing like the mission for which he had been recruited.

And yet, it seemed like the thought of not being able to traverse the path by foot was even more heartbreaking for Qrow. _Can’t he just… fly down?_ “…So? Does that cause any issues?”

“So,” Qrow moaned, clearly distraught- _He’s very drunk now,_ Clover realized distantly- “my nieces can’t even come to visit!”

“…pardon me?”

Qrow glared at the bag of wrapped items he had left beside the armoire when he had first run into Clover. “I even bought them gifts beforehand,” he muttered, no longer even remotely threatening; all of his anger had washed away in the rain, the man now focused solely upon the bag of what was presumably gifts. His lower lip curled into what could only be called a pout, brows furrowed, eyelids falling shut only to snap open, over and over again. “My kiddos. The baby and my firecracker,” he hiccupped.

Clover’s mind went back to the two beds in the small room across from the cave. “You… your nieces stay with you?”

The man glared at him, red eyes scathing at Clover’s obvious surprise. “What’s wrong with that?”

 _Nothing. I just didn’t think you’d be a man so invested in children, that’s all._ Rather than saying that, however, he simply sighed and shook his head. “Nothing,” he affirmed gently, approaching the shifter with care. “Were they coming to visit?”

“Yeah,” Qrow groaned, hanging his head against the doorframe. “We decided I prolly shouldn’t visit them for a while, not after what… what happened last time.”

Clover gently pried the intoxicated man away from the entrance and shut the door, flinching as the wind slammed it shut. “What happened last time?” he asked, guiding the man to the human-sized bed. “Why can’t you go down to visit them?”

The sorrow began to mingle with embarrassment upon his cheeks, and Qrow averted his eyes. “…I dun wanna say.”

Helping the man sit down, Clover raised a brow. “Qrow.”

“I tried to save time by flying.” Clover didn’t respond, waiting patiently until at last, Qrow hung his head in his hands. “…someone thought I was a Nevermore,” the man mumbled bitterly.

Clover had to fight to swallow back the bark of laughter which wanted to roar out of him. Someone had seen him in bird form and thought he was a creature of Grimm? True, Qrow’s avian form was formidable, but there was not a speck of white, red-lined bone to be seen on his form! Nevermores all bore unnaturally white masks of bone, their tainted magical energy flowing through veins upon the surface, glowing red and ominous through the bone. How could anyone mistake the shifter’s true, giant figure for that of an avian Grimm?

The very idea was laughable, and also, Clover’s heart could not go out more to the man. The _insult_ of it all…

Qrow glumly continued, “Called half the Huntsmen in town to knock down the door. Tai got mad for weeks ‘cause Ruby and Yang were so scared-“

“Ruby and Yang?” Clover sank back upon his haunches, thinking back. Those two little girls who lived with their father- the ones who had been so excited to see their uncle, their eyes practically _sparkling_ with joy as they helped their Huntsman father do the laundry- “Wait- your nieces live in that little cottage along the path here?”

Miserably, Qrow nodded. “I haven’t seen them for _months,_ it was supposed to be a surprise, their dad was gonna bring them up to spend the week here… Hell, I even got Tai something…”

Clover could no longer hold back his smile. “Is that why your ‘hoard’ was so… lacking?”

The glare Qrow sent his way was priceless- all pouting and vulnerable, like a child angry at an older sibling for stealing their dessert. “I have a coin purse like anyone else, bastard,” Qrow protested. “The kids dragged that thing up here one day and announced that I- I ‘needed a treasure chest’ so I just let them keep it in there.”

There was something painfully sweet and also deeply, unflinchingly pathetic about the way Qrow mournfully slumped over, dripping water across the floor, allowing it to soak into the mattress. Clucking his tongue, Clover sighed and stood up straight, looking over at the man authoritatively. “Okay, Qrow. First thing’s first.”

“Hm?” Qrow glanced up at him through red-rimmed, bleary eyes.

“Do you usually sleep in bird form or human form?” _Brothers above, that is an odd phrase to say._

“…I’m not a bird.”

Clover hummed in agreement, walking over to the armoire beside the bed. In the lower drawers, he managed to find a towel, so he promptly handed it over to the older man. “Of course you’re not,” he muttered wearily. “And what _are_ you, then?”

“I’m a corvid.”

It took everything he had to hold his tongue. _It’s fine- you can do this- you’ve been to enough evening balls in the royal palace- you can maintain your composure, he_ cannot _be worse than coaxing the Katt family’s eldest daughter down the ballroom’s curtains-_ “Of course. You’re a great corvid. My apologies, Qrow,” Clover replied succinctly. When the elder did not move to dry off his sopping figure, Clover quickly took the towel back and began to dry the man’s hair for him. The motions felt far too intimate, and Clover felt nothing if not out-of-place; why he was there, drying off a shifter’s hair during his emotional breakdown, Clover’s mind had yet to parse.

Thankfully, Qrow did not protest, the man too dizzy in his inebriation to fully take it what Clover was doing. He didn’t mind- it made the task easier for him, and Clover did not need any additional hiccups in this situation.

What he _did_ need was some time to think.

“Now, if that’s the case, please dry yourself off. I shall bring you some tea. Put on some warm clothes.”

“But-“

“But nothing.” Clover paused, feeling his face heat up as Ozpin’s words flashed back into his mind. Steeling himself against the sheer humiliation of what he was going to say, he finally choked out, “Unless you want this ‘handsome knight’ to undress you and get you in something-“

Qrow buried his face in his hands, a low whine which Clover assumed was, “ _Ozpin,”_ barely audible from his muffled mouth. Taking that as an invitation to leave, Clover laid the towel upon Qrow’s shoulder, ensured that the door leading outside was closed, and then stepped out into the kitchen.

Whilst the kettle was heating up, Clover was focused on something entirely different. Yanking out the scrying scroll and some charcoal from his pack, he quickly began writing down a message to Harriet, summarizing the truth of his mission. He didn’t know if it would actually reach her with the magical barriers upon Qrow’s home, but it was worth a shot- with spells written in blood, he had a far higher chance of success, after all. “ _Mission was false- Valean royal advisor wants help bringing shifter back to work in Vale. Not a monster. All old friends of His Majesty. Wants me to help convince him to return to work.”_

It took barely a few moments for words to begin appearing below his message as Harriet penned her own message in response. “ _And? Do you need to leave?”_

_“How do I convince someone to go back to work?”_

He could hear the water beginning to roil within the kettle. He needed answers, _now._

Finally, Harriet’s loopy, messy scrawl appeared yet again. “ _Find out why he left and fix the problem.”_ To his horror, she then added, “ _If he knows our liege, is he a royal?”_

Clover frowned. He had no idea about _anything,_ let alone Qrow’s past- all he knew was that there was an extremely depressed, sentimental shifter longing to see his nieces in the next room. Clumsily, he wrote just that to Harriet, praying that she would give him advice.

“ _If he’s sweet, then hang around longer. You could learn to lighten up.”_

 _This woman just wants to drink on the crown’s dime,_ Clover groaned, not bothering to dignify her words with a response. He couldn’t even blame her, not after their month-long, nonstop voyage. If only he could join her…

He packed away the scroll and charcoal and groaned, pressed his forehead into his elbow, feeling the tension peaking. How in the world could he accomplish this?

_Find out why he left and fix the problem._

Well, that was not going to happen whilst the elder whimpered glumly in the adjacent room.

Taking in a deep breath, Clover centered himself, straightening up. He was a knight of Atlas. He would do whatever it took to accomplish his mission. He would be able to do it without fail.

One upset shifter couldn’t be too hard to convince, could it?

The moment he walked it with a tray of tea, relief struck his heart. Qrow had found the sense to change his clothes and mop the floor- the mundanity of the task struck him. _As someone with a connection to King Ironwood, why don’t you have servants? Guards?_

It was not the night for those questions. Before Qrow could say anything to him, Clover merely held out the tray, offering a cup of soothing tea. “Drink this, then go to bed.”

The elder bristled. “Who do you-“

“Look, Qrow. I’m not your enemy-“

“Anymore.”

“-and I know this is an odd set of circumstances, but… You’re going to need your senses about you if you’re going to help me tomorrow.”

Qrow frowned, backing away for a moment. A chill ran down Clover’s spine as he saw the fingers on one of Qrow’s hands extending, elongating, growing darker by the second. “Help you with what?” the man growled.

Wearing his sweetest, most courtly smile, Clover explained, “With clearing away the debris on the walking path. You want your nieces to be able to visit, right? I’ll help.”

And just like that, talons disappeared, a hand reaching out for the cup of tea, gratitude and gruff wonder in crimson, shining, bloodshot eyes. “You’ll really help?”

Clover shrugged. “A knight never goes back on his word- and even if he has to,” he added ruefully, “then he at least tries to do the best by the people he is trying to help.”

Qrow regarded him for a long, weary moment, eyes blinking lazily as they took in his figure. Finally, the man smiled, years of frustration and bitterness melting off of his features. “You’re alright, ‘sir knight’,” he grinned. “You’re alright.” And then, the man clambered into his nest the way a toddler might stumble into their crib at night. With a flash of red Aura shining, illuminating the cave for a brief moment in a blood-stained hue, a giant ball of black feathers emerged in the center of the nest, a pointed crest peeking up over the top of tall woven branches.

That was a far better response than what he was expecting, so Clover smiled and nodded in response, for this mission was not going to be an easy one, and he genuinely had no idea how to pull it off- but at the very least, he’d help reunite a lonely man with his family. That was something he could do.


	9. Chapter 9

“You’ll… help?”

Clover nodded, handing a cup of coffee to the elder. Qrow simply yawned, pulling out the chair opposite to Clover and slumping into it, his hair mussed and out of order. Clover longed to put it in place for no other reason than to clean it up; the elder’s face still had imprints it in from twigs within his nest, after all, the lines looking like scars imprinted into his cheeks. He looked like an utter disaster.

Yet, Clover could not blame him for his ragged appearance after the amount of liquor he had consumed the night before. He sighed, pulling out his own chair and taking a seat, gesturing to the entrance of Qrow’s home. “I, uh… I took a walk this morning,” he began clumsily. “I wanted to take a look at the place properly.”

“What, your little one-man tour wasn’t enough?”

Clover winced. “Look, I’ve already apologized for trespassing-“

“I know,” Qrow groaned, placing his forehead against the dining table. “I just…”

Clover hummed sympathetically. “It’s been a rough few days,” he assented. “I get it.”

“Yeah.” Qrow winced as the clouds parted outside, shining a beam of sunlight through his window. “Blasted sunlight.”

Looking out of the window, Clover continued, “So, do you want to know what I found?”

“Something tells me you’re going to say it anyways, so go ahead,” Qrow rasped dryly, keeping his forehead on the table.

Gesturing to the outer mountainside, Clover began recounting what he had seen that morning. The entire mountainside looked terrifying- covered in brambles and creeping vines, it truly looked like the den of a monster. “Granted, it was much better this morning as compared to last night,” Clover laughed. “Sunlight certainly helps the dark atmosphere of it all a bit, but realistically, if you want to be considered friendly, you _might_ want to make it more approachable-“

“Shut up.” There was an edge to his voice, but not of anger- more of frustration, of bitterness.

Clover leaned forward, watching the shifter carefully. “Why do you seclude yourself up here?” he asked. “I don’t know if you remember yesterday-“ Based on the elder’s blush, the answer was _not much,_ “-but you mentioned your luck has something to do with it. What’s going on?”

Qrow’s eyes were wary, guarded as always amidst his obvious headache and nausea. Yet, as Clover waited in silence, keeping his smile open and inviting, his posture welcoming as he leaned across the table, ready to listen attentively, Qrow finally let out a weary sigh, relenting. “Look. I’ve _tried_ making this place nicer, okay?” Qrow muttered, embarrassment tinging his words with bitter, sour defeat. “The brambles continued to grow while I was away on missions. I tried hiring some local folk to help out, to make it a little nicer, but they always grow terrified when they see my bird form.” Snorting, he said wryly, “You’re the first one who hasn’t fainted or threatened to murder me on sight, y’know.”

A part of Clover wanted to retort, for of course he wouldn’t have had such a pathetic reaction- he had originally been sent there to slay a _dragon,_ so what harm could a giant bird do?- but he held it in, biting his tongue to allow Qrow to continue on.

“Landslides and such are pretty common here, so I try not to let the kids come to see me except for a few times a year.” He waved vaguely to his surroundings, as if that explained his current plight. “And, this place is far enough away from everything else on Patch that my misfortune won’t do any harm to anyone, especially not the kiddos.”

Clover leaned back. “What is this ‘misfortune’ of which you speak?”

Qrow rolled his eyes, clearly exhausted. “You flirt with a fae _one time_ as a _teenager,_ and suddenly you’re cursed forever,” he muttered.

Clover paused, staring back at Qrow blankly. “You… were cursed… by a fae?”

“Accursed faeries and their godforsaken courts.”

Silently, Clover made a note to demand for higher compensation at the end of this mission. Who would he have to harass for it? The Atlesian Treasury? Would he have to hunt down the Valean Royal Advisor? The gold promised to his name was _not_ enough to deal with someone _cursed by the fae-_

But then again, the amount of defeat in Qrow’s face was far too pathetic to leave alone. Holding back his questions, he simply murmured, “That would be terrible for anyone to suffer. Is that why you left the academy? Ozpin mentioned an incident yesterday.”

Qrow shook his head, clearly not willing to share. Clover didn’t push him, merely gawping as Qrow added, “It was the incident, but also, alcohol is a great way to dull a fae’s magic- but it’s _awful_ going to teach when you’re hungover.”

Massaging his temple, Clover stared blankly at Qrow. “The second part’s not a good excuse to quit.”

“Tell me more, sir knight.”

A loud grumble echoed through the room, and Qrow’s cheeks flushed red as he clutched his stomach. Clover chuckled, standing. “You’re probably still feeling sick, so I can make something. We should get started on dinner, too. Do you mind if I use your ingredients?”

“Sure, make yourself at home, you damn burglar,” Qrow muttered, lacking all animosity- the man was simply too tired to care.

“I’d prefer ‘sir burglar’, and considering how I haven’t stolen anything-“

“Yet,” Qrow interrupted mildly as Clover pulled out ingredients for a stew from the ice box.

“-I’d say I’m more of a… surprise guest.”

“’Guest’ implies I want you here,” Qrow sneered.

Releasing a long, heavy sigh, Clover finally looked at Qrow from where he stood by the counter. “To be honest with you,” he stated plainly, “I was told there was a shifter harassing people on this island. The king believed that was my mission- but he also asked _me_ because of a very special reason.”

“Jimmy thinks you’re attractive, Oz said. I get it.”

“No!” Clover cried, feeling his skin heat up fully, mortified. He had forcefully pushed that little detail out of his mind. “Gods, no.” He sighed, looking out the window; from where he stood, he could see the mess which he had refrained thus far from telling Qrow about. “I was sent here because they said they needed someone with good luck.”

Qrow froze. “…what?”

“I have good luck.” Turning back to the countertop, he began slicing up the meat he had found. “My mother paints as a hobby in the court. She received a client while she was pregnant with me, and… well, you of all people should be able to guess what the payment was, who the client was.”

“She got a fae to bless you?”

It was an old story, not one which he particularly cared about; he had long accepted the fact that his eccentric mother had played a dangerous game, taking faefolk as clientele. Either way, that bargain had worked out in his favour; he had experienced good luck his entire life, but had never felt like things were handed to him on a platter. He enjoyed working hard. He also enjoyed receiving a helping hand from fate.

The look in Qrow’s eyes was anything but positive, however. The anger and fury which lit up crimson irises chilled Clover to the bone, causing him to reflexively grip tighter onto the handle of the knife as Qrow’s fingers began to twitch, morph, clawed talons growing and shrinking back into bone in his rage. “You… lucky bastard,” he spat at last.

Clover sighed, forcing himself to relax, to get back to cooking. “I’m not saying this to be cruel,” he said, voice even and quiet. “I wish I knew how to help you, but I don’t. Even if there was a way to break a fae’s spell, I’m a knight, not a mage. What I _am_ saying, however, is that with my luck, maybe if I help you clean this place up, we’ll be able to prevent it all from falling apart after.”

Qrow did not respond, and Clover contented himself to cutting up the meat and searching for seasonings. Only once he had located a small cupboard of spices did Qrow finally murmur, “You’d… actually stay and help? You were serious?”

“For the nth time, I will. I will always uphold my mission, and that is aiding you, so of course.”

The shifter stood, wobbly on his feet as he stumbled over to Clover. “It’s not that much work, there’s no point-“

“Look outside.”

Frowning, Qrow followed Clover’s gaze, a strangled cry of anger ripping through his throat like an ungodly squawk when he saw the wreckage out of the window. The pathway down the mountainside had not been merely blocked by toppled trees on the back end of the path; a veritable landslide had shaken the roots of that section of the forest, completely destroying the walking path after the flooding caused by the rainfall. No one would be able to get through unless that path was cleared.

He relayed the extent of the damages he had explored that morning as gently as possible, but nothing could change the fact that Qrow’s face fell further with every word, the man retreating into himself as he realized what Clover was trying to tell him. There was far more work to be done if he wanted to be able to visit his nieces again. With a clumsy smile, Clover asked, “Would you be able to contact their father and let them know? It might be a good idea to let them know sooner rather than later.”

“What do you know?” Qrow said bitterly, glaring at the coffee mug in his hands. “You’re only here because Oz is too lazy to hire someone else to replace me.”

Sighing, Clover explained, “I saw your nieces on the way here. They were singing about how they were going to get to see you. Is Yang the one who call’s you ‘Qwow’ or is that-?”

“That’s Ruby,” Qrow breathed, expression twisted, confused.

Clover grinned, pushing the potatoes which needed to be peeled towards Qrow. “Well then, we should make some food and eat up, then get started on clearing up the mess, right? We wouldn’t want to leave them waiting for too long- not when they’re so excited to see you again.”

Qrow stared at his profile for a long, long time while Clover got back to work marinating the meat. Clover waited for the elder to scream, to transform and fling him off the mountainside with his massive claws.

However, his hands instead eventually picked up a knife and a potato, peeling slowly by Clover’s side. Clover smiled, focusing on his own tasks, allowing Qrow to slowly work as he accepted that Clover’s presence truly was there to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For kicks, here is the original plan for this chapter:
> 
> -landslides are pretty common which is why I don’t let my kiddos meet me, and it’s always drafty but I need a place to stay but last time Grimm thought my outside nest was one of theirs so I moved it indoors so I could at least stay a little hidden and get some sleep but my fuckin luck sucks misfortune follows me everywhere  
> -And he’s just this sad fuckin bird man  
> -So clover’s like hey so is it just bad luck that’s why you left  
> -And he’s like … yaaa and also it really fuckin sucks going to the school hungover  
> -That’s not a good excuse  
> -Your face isn’t a good excuse  
> -Wow okay well thanks I guess. So he explains like well I mean I’ve gotta be real with you I was told there’s a dragon in a cave on patch harassing people and qrow’s like JIMOTHY FUCKING IRONWOOD and so clover asks how they know each other and they start telling stories around the campfire   
> -And its lovely and clover’s like look can I be honest with you? the reason they sent me is because I have good luck   
> -And qrow’s like wait… what?  
> -And he’s like yeah I have good luck so if you want I can help you clean up the place and maybe my luck will prevent it from fall apart and maybe then it’ll stay?  
> -And he’s like… you’d help  
> -And clover’s like well I mean ya I don’t mind and tbh are your nieces blond and black haired   
> -Like yes  
> -I saw them on my way here and they really love you they were super excited you were on the way. We shouldn’t leave them hanging right  
> -And he’s like :( very sweet of u


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! I have no idea why this took so long to write- it was lowkey physically painful to get through this chapter's writer's block- but it's finally done. Perhaps it is due to all the weird drama that's happened since this was updated. I don't know. Either way, though, there's only a few chapters left in this story and it's finally planned out! So excited to be free of itttt
> 
> This is a longer chapter than usual. Let me know what you think!

The afternoon brought with it clearer skies after the raging storms of the night before, along with a clearer head for Qrow. The elder still looked pale and wan and sallow, but Clover happily clapped him on the shoulder and gestured to the entrance of his abode. “So, let’s get started?” he asked once the elder had confirmed he no longer felt like death walking.

Qrow sighed, running his fingers through his hair, clambering up to his feet wearily. “Whatever you say, good knight,” he replied sourly, although his words carried no heat to them. Clover smiled and shook his head wryly, waiting for the other man to join him so they could survey the damage.

Just as he had seen earlier, the storm had caused a painful amount of wreckage in the vicinity. However, after cleaning up their morning affairs, they quickly fell into a solid rhythm, working together to clear what needed to be taken away. Clover tied branches together and hacked apart offending wood, leaving Qrow to transform and carry things out of the way in his avian form. The brambles were slowly but surely uprooted step-by-step, leaving him knee-deep in torn roots and soil, but Clover found that he did not mind; the humidity of the air left after the storm was strangely soothing, the exertion leaving rivulets of sweat dripping from his temple. It was messy work, and far less glorious than any mission to slay a beast, but Clover had provided manual labour and support like this numerous times as a squire, and the return to this mindless, yet warm-hearted work was something he hadn’t even known he had missed.

Dirt was not exactly something he could muck around with amongst the eternal tundra and ice and snow of Solitas, after all. Inglorious or not, something about being surrounded by soil and greenery felt natural, right _._

Every once in a while he was able to see Qrow shift back to his human form, the man looking over their progress with a troubled, anxious glint in his eye. His care for this nieces was clear as day, and there was no lie in his eyes whenever he mentioned just how much he wanted to ensure that the path to his home was safe for the children. For that, Clover genuinely wanted to help him. Qrow was a clumsy man, but a loving one- that much was true. Any residual fear or discomfort he felt towards the shifter dissipated by evening, for the man begrudgingly brought Clover back into his home and fed him and offered him a place to stay yet again. Qrow was not a monster, no matter what the citizens of Patch may have thought- he was just a lonely man, almost pitiable in his sorry, lonely state.

He was surprisingly engaging, too. Clover found himself asking more and more about his relationship with King Ironwood over dinner; although at first, the prickly man kept quiet, as time went on Qrow began to reveal more and more of his history with Clover’s liege, recounting tales of missions gone awry and training together as youths. It was bizarre, listening to tales of his relatively-young king as an even younger man, but Qrow’s stories went far enough back that Clover soon found himself fascinated by this new take on the man who Clover had sworn to follow forever. And, by the end of Qrow’s tales, Clover found that his former fear of the shifter had disappeared completely, as had all of Qrow’s aggression towards him, his previous trespassing finally forgiven amidst the strange situation in which they found themselves.

With their exhaustion mounting and the sun almost completed hidden below the horizon, the duo had to turn in for the evening. Clover stepped out of the bath and dressed in borrowed clothes, only to notice just how dim the tiny mountain home truly was. Within the remaining rays of sunlight streaming in through the window, he could see tiny motes of dust floating everywhere, causing him to sneeze just looking at it. “Do you have any other lights in here?” he asked off-hand, walking over to the kitchen window. “Are these Dust lanterns really enough?”

Qrow lifted his eyes from the sink, raising a brow at the man, placing the plate in his hands down. “I don’t see the issue,” he said blandly. “If I could see my parchment, then it’s good enough.”

Clover shook his head, leaning his elbows onto the windowsill. Looking out the window, he could see the clear difference between the damage the storm had wrought and the fruits of their labour that day even in the waning sunlight; a swell of pride surged up within his heart, for they truly had made a large dent on their workload. It felt comforting to have had work that relied on no bureaucracy or courtliness. “It’s not that. This place needs some dusting, and some more lights, and-“

“What are you, the head of the household?” Qrow growled, rolling his eyes.

Shrugging, Clover simply joined Qrow at the sink, grabbing a dishcloth to dry the plate once Qrow was finished with it. “I’m just thinking of how to make it more comfy for your nieces.”

Immediately, Qrow’s face softened. “You...”

Clover flushed, seeing the gentleness in the shifter’s eyes. Clearing his throat, he placed the dried dish in its stack and walked over to the cavernous bedchambers. “Either way, we should go to bed,” he said hurriedly. “It would be a good idea to rest now, so we can continue working tomorrow.”

“I-I’ll stay up a little longer,” Qrow replied, keeping his face turned away from Clover. “I have some things to do.”

Clover opened his mouth, ready to protest- or, at least, to offer companionship- but with the sight of Qrow’s ears and neck flushing dark pink, contrasting terribly with his normally-pale skin and dark hair, he felt his own cheeks heat up. _What in the world am I thinking?_ Clover screamed silently as he ducked into the cavern. _He’s a_ shifter.

And yet, those words meant nothing to him anymore. Even the sight of Qrow’s transformation had frightened him less and less as the day had progressed, and now that Clover reflected upon it within the darkened chamber, he knew that he had somehow acclimatized to this situation far quicker than he could have ever imagined.

Still, it took him quite a while to fall asleep that night. Slumber did not seem keen to take over his body, for his mind continued to race with conflicting thoughts all night- thoughts about what he could possibly do to help Qrow feel comfortable enough to return to Beacon Academy’s staff; indignant disbelief that still remained over the fact that he was stuck here doing this mission at all, when his skills would be better utilized on practically any other task-

And the lingering image of pink ears and a flushed neck, the sound of stuttered words, the softening of crimson eyes as they looked at him in wonder and gratitude over and over and over again.

He liked feeling those eyes upon him, he found. Qrow had always been a handsome man, but those eyes were something else entirely, stirring something within Clover that he did not know how to truly name.

Sleep arrived eventually, and Clover awoke bright and early the next morn to find a fatigued, but less hungover, Qrow this time. “You’re looking a little better today,” Clover commented kindly as he poured himself some tea. “You have a plan for today?”

Massaging his temple, Qrow shot him a wan smile, leaning against the countertop. “If you’re still willing to help, we could finish clearing up the pathway today,” he said with a shrug.

Clover gestured towards the exit, rolling his shoulders back. The linen shirt he was borrowing was comfortable and airy, albeit a little tight on his muscular form. It wouldn’t hinder him in their work, although he did regret having to impose upon Qrow so much as to need to borrow his wardrobe.

As he followed Qrow out the door, however, Clover had to pause, taking a look around. The entire household looked… cleaner. Brighter. There were more Dust lanterns set out in the hallway, he realized, and another set in the kitchen. The morning light which shone through the vine-covered entrance was clear, fresh.

His heart seized for a moment, then he followed Qrow out the entrance of the cavern.

In the sunlight, the barren ground which they had cleared the day before was still just as stark and empty as before. To his surprise, however, Qrow’s expression lit up with such joy that Clover would have assumed his nieces were cresting the trail on their own. “What is it?” he asked.

Turning on his heel, Qrow opened his arms wide, gesturing towards their previous day’s efforts. “Nothing’s… nothing’s grown back,” he breathed in awe.

Blinking slowly at him, Clover nodded. “Plants… generally don’t grow back overnight.” _I think,_ he added silently. _I’m assuming they don’t._ Glancing around, his mind began to stray, landing back onto the garden surrounding the cottage of Qrow’s nieces. _I wonder if those girls would like to have a garden here, too..._

Qrow sighed, but the disbelief in his eyes was quickly morphing into relief. “You have _no idea_ what fae magic is capable of,” he retorted.

Understanding dawned upon Clover, leaving him shaking his head wryly as he stepped out into the warm morning rays alongside Qrow. “I guess I do, if my luck has been enough to stop it,” he replied. “I’m glad I’m here, then.”

Qrow’s grateful smile before he began to transform once again engrained itself instantly into Clover’s mind.

By the time the sun had reached its zenith over their heads, the path itself had been cleared- but more importantly, Clover found that there was no longer any discomfort between the two men whatsoever. Clover no longer felt the need to hold his tongue, the courtesy he would normally give a noble or fellow knight falling away to friendly, comfortable banter. Why keep up pretenses if Qrow was always so willing to engage in such a casual way?

It was so different to interactions on Atlas. There was no nonsense, no hidden layers to Qrow’s words; he spoken honestly, truly. Clover quite liked it.

“It’s not a bad thing at all to have that corvid form, huh?” Clover murmured, bringing over a flask of water for the fatigued shifter once they decided to take respite.

Flashing him a smile, Qrow pushed dark, sweat-streaked hair back, revealing flushed cheeks and a light in his eyes far brighter than that morning. “I’m impressed,” he breathed. “Not many people can grow accustomed to seeing it.”

With a wry grin, Clover asked, “Would you mind transforming right now?” At Qrow’s confused look, he teased, pointing at the blazing sun, “We’ve cleared out all the shade in the area, and I’m not used to this kind of heat.”

Deadpan, Qrow muttered, “I’m not going to give you shade under my wings.”

Clover chuckled. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

Before Qrow could retort, he froze in place, stiffening as if alerted by something. His eyes narrowed, gaze darting around to the treeline further below their place on the mountain path, looking for something still hidden away.

“Qrow, what is it-“ Clover began, only to be interrupted by a loud, piercing snarl. His blood ran cold, adrenaline immediately spiking, heart pounding in his chest. _Brothers- it’s the Grimm._

“My goddamn luck,” Qrow spat under his breath. “This is why I don’t go outside- Brothers be damned, this is-“

Those words were the last things Clover heard before his feet were already taking him back to the entrance of Qrow’s home where he had placed Kingfisher in its scabbard, alongside his armour. There was no time to slip anything on aside from his blade, so he hooked it onto his belt as he bolted back down the path; the axe he had been using would be far less effective against creatures of shadow than the spelled blade, after all.

However, as he reached their makeshift camp set up a just a few hundred yards down the path, Clover found his footsteps pounding to a halt as he watched a pack of almost fifteen Beowolves step out of the treeline, approaching Qrow.

Yet, the shifter did not move.

 _If I call out to him, they’ll be alerted,_ Clover immediately began to think, mind racing. _That’ll distract them- that’ll give Qrow time to get away, he doesn’t have a weapon, he needs to-_

Wordlessly, Qrow held out his hand to the side as if to grab hold of something. Clover’s jaw dropped as the shifter’s hand began to glow, the red light of his Aura emanating from his fingertips, growing and condensing like vines until suddenly, the world flashed, and the claymore which Clover had seen the other man use before landed perfectly within Qrow’s hand.

There was no time to even blink. The giant claymore lifted high into the air, and suddenly, two of the closest Beowolves were cleaved in two, their wolf-like forms falling to the ground, dissipating into rancid ash. The rest of the pack began to howl, charging for the shifter, but Qrow gave them no purchase; he leapt into the air, his Aura glowing brightly enough to stain the sky with its crimson glow. The magical energy flowed into the claymore once again, somehow breaking the blade into segmented pieces that stretched, curved, elongated.

Clover was fascinated by it all, his grip on Kingfisher’s hilt relaxing slightly as he took in the sight with awe and wonder. The silhouette of Qrow’s tall, sinewy form poised midair, his muscle and strength on clear display as his giant broadsword transformed into what could only be the scythe of a _reaper,_ imprinted itself into the back of Clover’s eyes. How could he ever forget such deadly grace?

Clover’s body reacted before his mind did to the one lone monster which had crept up behind him; he drew his blade, blocking saliva-covered jaws from rending his flesh from his bones. The white mask of the Beowolf was bloodstained from previous victims, but its red, glowing eyes burned through the caked-on muck of feasts past. Clover dispatched it with ease, wrenching his sword free from its neck once he managed to slice it half-off, turning to look back at Qrow’s situation. _I have to help-_

But the battle was already over.

Within moments, the scythe had ripped around the pack, the precise, yet all-encompassing swings of the giant, curved blade culling all the beasts in one fell swoop. The air was thick with the dusty, scattering remains of crumbling Grimm, the beautiful evening sky choked out by black particles as the creatures disintegrated.

Clover could not even comprehend what had happened. There was skill, and then there was _Qrow,_ apparently. _No wonder they’re so desperate to get him back in Vale,_ he thought absently to himself. _When are you going to find a Huntsman with that kind of strength?_

It was Qrow who noticed Clover’s position first. Jogging up the path, the elder was quick to grab Clover’s shoulder, roughly checking his body for any injuries. Once satisfied that Clover was unscathed, he released the younger, hunched over, and walked up the path, leaving no room for Clover to even begin to get his thoughts together.

“You’re an excellent fighter,” Clover murmured. “I wasn’t expecting such impeccable swordsmanship- and with a scythe, as well- although I suppose that makes sense, thanks to your Semblance.”

“Of course I’m good. What the hell did you think I did to fight Grimm?” Qrow growled in response, clearly far more emotionally taxed than physically at the presence of the Grimm. “Ask them nicely to leave me alone?” Shaking his head in irritation, he closed his eyes, and before Clover’s very eyes, the blade seemed to vanish in another flash of red light. “There’s a reason I have such strong wards protecting my home- Ozpin needed to do it himself, for the curse’s effects are far too strong.”

The silence which filled the air after those words was palpable, painful. Qrow looked withdrawn, bitter- completely different to the smiling man Clover had so quickly gotten used to over the past two days.

Wincing, Clover continued, “Is that what you taught at Beacon Academy? Combat or weapons training?” Clover asked. “I can’t imagine a Huntsman with your skill being kept cooped up in a classroom.”

Qrow sighed, leaning back on a tree trunk right off the path, tilting his head backwards to look up at the sky through the canopy above. “Yeah, but I left.”

“Because of the incident, whatever it was?”

Shrugging, the elder said humourlessly, “I bring misfortune. It wasn’t safe for the kids- I said it from the start, and I’ll say it again. Oz should’ve listened to me.”

Clover smiled, looking over to the elder. His silhouette in the waning sunlight was striking; the golden light reflecting off haughty cheekbones almost shone, giving him a golden, ethereal glow only warmed further by the crimson in his eyes. “If they got hurt, it wasn’t your fault,” he said.

Groaning, Qrow pushed away from the tree, shoving his hands into his pockets bitterly. “Look- they got _hurt._ Even if they’re okay now, it doesn’t excuse the fact that no Grimm would have even attacked the school had I not been there.” Angrily pointing at his face, he added bitterly, “Guess who hasn’t had another Grimm attack since I left? Beacon.” He hunched over, turning away from Clover, ready to head up to his home. “You wouldn’t understand, my innocent, _lucky_ knight.”

Clover quickly jogged to meet up with him further up the trail. “Qrow, if I’ve done something to offend you, and if this question will be too forward, I apologize; however, I want to know- you seem far more agitated than if it was just regret over what happened to your students. What exactly is going on?”

To his surprise, Qrow actually paused, turning to look over his shoulder. His expression was twisted into a rueful, fatigued smile. “My nieces want to be Huntresses one day,” he said softly, once Clover’s footsteps caught up to his own. “I’m… those kids could’ve been _them,_ Clover.”

Clover softened, his heart melting. It wasn’t out of guilt or bitterness, but out of _empathy,_ that Qrow thought he should stay away. “You say that they’re better with you gone, Qrow, but if I had a child…” He walked ahead, blocking off the shifter’s path up the mountainside. “I think I’d feel a lot safer knowing that my child was learning from such an amazing Huntsman. They’ll be far more equipped with you around, right?”

Qrow paused, glancing over at him with a glint of surprise which Clover could not help but mirror. After all, Clover found that he _meant_ those words.

He just hoped that his face conveyed that sentiment just as sincerely as he felt it. Judging by how Qrow’s sadness seemed to slowly ease form his features, his eyes creasing into the truest smile he had yet to see upon the elder, it seemed like he was successful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 4 chapters left! We're almost done this story :D I can't wait to be freeee
> 
> If you're still reading along, let me know what you think!

“I just- I _knew_ it!” Qrow cackled, throwing his head back in the most carefree manner Clover had ever seen. “I was wondering why you seemed so _normal,_ so it’s nice to see that you’re an Atlesian born and bred after all _._ ”

Clover spluttered, “W-what are you talking about?” He could feel the embarrassment rising up his cheeks and chest, colouring him a mottled red. “I don’t-“

Wiping a tear from his eye, Qrow explained, “Atlas folk usually can’t make heads or tails of how to actually take care of themselves. You nobles have it too easy. I was wondering why you were so comfortable being so _domestic-_ “

“I’ve spent more time away from Atlas over the past decade than in it; of course I know how to do things like cook and clean. Do you think we have servants with us on the road?” Clover retorted immediately. _Is that how he saw me? An incompetent noble from Atlas?_

“-but you’re not half bad, Clover,” Qrow finished, stretching his arms above his head. With a teasing wink, he added, “Even if you _are_ a terrible gardener.”

Clover pouted, feeling his dignity slipping away from him as Qrow cast another look at the sprouts he had accidentally dug up instead of the weeds they were trying to clear away. His luck seemed to counterbalance the effects of Qrow’s curse, causing everything they planted to sprout unnaturally quickly. However, with Clover knowing little to nothing about greenery thanks to his upbringing in the land of ice and snow, his experience was nonexistent in the field of gardening, leaving him with little knowledge of what to do.

At least Qrow was enjoying it; the elder was smiling freer than Clover ever seen him, getting his fill of teasing the knight as they went about clearing the flatter grounds around the entrance to Qrow’s home. “Do you really think the girls will like it?” he asked, wiping sweat off his brow.

“I’m sure they will,” the younger said. Clover watched in fascination as Qrow’s hands transformed slightly into his talons, elongating claws menacing and pitch black as his fatigue shone through; the avian feet were quickly reigned back in, however, and long, elegant fingers returned to their human state.

Clover was not able to look away in time, however. The elder caught him watching the slight transformation, his expression clouding before sheepish, disgruntled embarrassment flooded his features. “Sorry, you’re- you’re probably not comfortable, huh?”

To both of their surprise, Clover found himself shaking his head. “No, I don’t mind it,” he said, the words surprisingly truthful upon his tongue. “It is just- it’s fascinating. There are no shifters in King Ironwood’s court-“

“Of course, he’s too paranoid to have shifters around,” Qrow muttered, rolling his eyes.

“-so it’s new. I’ve only ever faced shifters as enemies.” The bristling was instant, but Qrow managed to take a deep breath, calming himself down, his murderous red Aura disappearing underneath his skin once again. Clover smiled gratefully, adding, “I’m glad to have met you, you know. It’s strange, but...”

“What,” Qrow snorted good-naturedly, his tension drifting away, “you happy to not have to hunt anything down this time?”

Clover smiled, glancing down the road for a heartbeat. The path up the mountainside had been finally cleared up after two more days of effort, and Qrow had sent a message to his brother-in-law through a scrying stone that it was safe to bring the little girls up; the work had been exhausting, but as he looked back on it in hindsight whilst surrounded by seedlings and piles of accidentally-shredded weeds, he found that he did not mind the change of pace at all. “I’d rather be here than be on the hunt for a monstrous Grimm, in all honestly. You have no idea how grueling the journey was from Solitas to here.”

“Oh really?” The elder raised a brow before his face lit up, the man throwing his head back to laugh. “Oh gods, he stuck you with little Winter Schnee’s magic to get here, didn’t he? That crazy mage…”

Baffled, Clover nodded. That was all the indication Qrow needed to launch into a story about how he had met Winter throughout the years while helping the King with various tasks as a Huntsman; the shifter hunkered down beside what they hoped to turn into a flower bed, his knees knocking into Clover’s as he squatted along, clumsily trying to mix in fertilizer and create holes for the bulbs which he had somehow procured. As he spoke, his husky, growling voice eager and bright as he recounted wry tales of the past, Clover found that his mind was barely focused on the words; instead, all he could do was watching the way Qrow’s eyes lit up, the way his face animatedly shifted as he told his stories, the way every once in a while the elder’s expression would grow gentle and kind as he regarded their work clearing this area of earth.

“I think the kids will really like it,” Qrow admitted when Clover asked him about his soft expression. “It’s- thanks.” With a rueful smile, he added, “You really didn’t need to help me with this, though. Aren’t you some fancy knight of Atlas?”

Clover sighed, looking up into the sky. Qrow was correct; if the court could see what he was doing, he would be the laughingstock of even the squires’ quarters. And yet, he found that he didn’t mind this menial labour, for the image of those little girls looking at the sprouts which were soon to flower was admittedly sweet.

As was the image of Qrow, when he would finally be able to share this with them.

Clover froze. _Wait, what am I thinking? Oh, Brothers above…_

And yet, when Qrow looked over to him, a wicked gleam in his eye as he murmured, “Alright, sir knight. Ready to eat?” it took Clover a moment to clear his throat and to catch his breath, for Qrow in that moment, sweat gleaming down his forehead as the sun rose to its midday peak, his toned body glistening and pale skin ruddy in the light…

 _Oh gods above-_ In an attempt to change his focus, Clover asked, “Do you enjoy being a shifter?”

Qrow paused, glancing over his shoulder as he headed back towards the entrance to his home, still covered in spelled vines and protective barriers. “I wouldn’t know if that’s a fair thing to ask,” the elder said pointedly. “You can’t just ask me if I enjoy it- it’s what I am. There isn’t really an element of ‘enjoyment’ in the discussion.”

Flushing, Clover trotted after him, trying his best to maintain his composure as he asked, “Well, yes, but- humour me, Qrow. If you weren’t a shifter, would you take up residence in central Vale? Or with your family?”

Slowly, Qrow shook his head, stepping through the cozy structure to the kitchen. “I suppose,” he murmured, tossing logs onto the hearth to heat up the leftover portions of their previous day’s stew. “Although it’s more a question of my luck.”

Clover hummed, wandering over to Qrow’s study desk where the piles of parchment and scrolls were stacked high to the ceiling. “That’s… that’s a fair response,” he murmured. “It’s a shame, though.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “You seem like you would be a good father,” he admitted. “With the way you love your nieces, I can see it suiting you quite well, Qrow.” There was a loud echo through the house as Qrow dropped the ladle in his hands back into the pot, his eyes fixated on Clover in shock. The confusion and surprise in his eyes spurred Clover onwards to elaborate, “The heart is what matters, correct? I’m part of a noble family.” Fondly, he looked out of the window, then back at the numerous pieces of parchment before him. Gently, he removed the top one as he added, “I did not know my parents well beyond social functions. You clearly know those little girls well- I think more people could stand to be like you and your brother.”

He heard Qrow let out a long, soft sigh, before the elder whispered, “…thanks. Tai and I- we’re not perfect, but we’re trying.”

The air was quiet and peaceful for a few minutes after that, the only sounds coming from the crinkling of sheafs of parchment as Clover flipped through what had to be Qrow’s notes and research for his students, and as Qrow stirred the pot idly on the other side of the room. Yet, neither man wanted to break the amicable silence which had settled overtop of them both, the scent of warm food and sunlight filtering through the window creating a comforting ambiance that required no conversation to keep it safe and cozy.

Finally, it was Clover who spoke first, catching Qrow’s attention. “Are these all notes for your classes?” he asked, flipping through yet another bound stack filled to the brim with notes on weapons manufacturing and magical enchantments. “They’re excellent.”

Qrow stood at last, two bowls in his hands. He brought them over to the table and took a seat, gesturing for Clover to join him; as the younger obliged, he murmured, “Look, I know I’m good at my job. My luck just isn’t suited for it.”

“It’s such a shame, though,” Clover said for the second time that day, a bitter coating on his tongue at the thought of Qrow’s hesitance to re-enter the classroom. “I wish I had had instructors like you in Atlas.”

Qrow snorted, stirring his stew lazily before taking a bite. “What, is the view in Atlas a little lacking?” Before Clover could splutter out a response, the elder added playfully, “Although I don’t need to ask, if _you’re_ the best knight they had to send over here.”

His jaw fell slightly agape. _The nerve-!_ And yet, Clover found himself laughing before anything, replying simply, “For the content, good sir. Although I suppose the view would improve with you there, admittedly.”

Immediately, Qrow choked on his stew, and once Clover’s off-handed words properly sank into his own skull, he was choking as well, embarrassment causing the two men to keep their eyes fixated on anything but each other. The gall- the _audacity-_

Once he could breathe again, Qrow mumbled clumsily, “I should probably get their rooms ready if they’re coming.”

 _Oh- his nieces._ “Do you want me to go back in town while they’re here?” Clover asked, ready to leap up on a dime. The logical part of him wept at the thought of having to endure the walk in his full armour back from Qrow’s mountainside home all the way to the port town, but he knew there would be nowhere else to go if the elder did indeed want him to get out during the visitation.

His eyes opened wide, heart thudding in his chest, as he noticed the flush rising to Qrow’s cheeks, to the tips of his ears, tinting his pale skin beautifully in contrast with crimson, angled eyes and dark hair. “Y’know what, sir knight? Stay.”

Clover sank into his chair, surprised. “…You’re sure?”

There was no lie in his eyes. “I think the girls would like you. Stay.”

For some reason, Clover’s heart ached- whether from joy or from sorrow, he didn’t know. All he did know was that his task was not finished, and so, no matter how he felt, his place was still with Qrow.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so stoked to be done this ficccc I have no idea if this chapter is cohesive or not, I just needed it *gone*.
> 
> Leave a comment if you're reading along! I'd love to hear from you ;-; It's been a rough, rough week.

Two weeks both passed in the blink of an eye and over the course of what felt like a millennia. Either way he looked at it, Clover would have been hard pressed to say that those two weeks were anything if not pleasant, though; after all, he found that after two weeks of living with Qrow- two weeks of gardening each day- two weeks of taking turns with the dishes and curling up in that large, comfortable bed next to Qrow’s nest… Clover could no longer deny the thought welling up in his heart, bursting at the seams, so utterly irrefutable.

He liked Qrow Branwen.

Perhaps ‘liked’ was too strong a sentiment; or, perhaps it wasn’t strong enough. Two weeks had brought the two men closer than ever as they bickered over things to cook, how to decorate, and whose fault it was that the brambles continued threatening to take over their little flower patch. Qrow insisted it was Clover’s good luck helping the weeds to flourish, whereas the knight asserted that Qrow’s fae-inflicted misfortune was wilting the flowers, providing room for the thicket to grow. Neither man was being cold, for the words were always spoken with a smile, a teasing wink and a slight elbow in the side; they always laughed and teased, noses crinkling in amusement, crow’s feet lining their eyes proving just how relaxed, just how _comfortable,_ they had become with one another.

They had all the time in the world to do so, after all. Taiyang had decided to wait until the pathway up the mountain was finally drier, giving the girls surer footing for when they finally came to visit. All Clover and Qrow had to do during that time was fight off the Grimm who threatened to encroach on the shifter’s humble abode, but even then the conflict was not something to fear; the duo very quickly realized that sparring was the perfect way to pass the time, for their fighting styles complemented one another perfectly.

Qrow truly was an excellent instructor. Clover felt his skills improving simply by watching the man, even without all of the tiny tips the shifter supplied so effortlessly, allowing the knight to perfect his own craft.

The only reason Clover even noticed the time truly passing upon that mountain at the south end of the isle of Patch was Harriet, the young captain communicating with him every few days. She was more than happy to stay in Vale, just as Clover had expected; her experience of this trip was more of a tall tale than anything, for the woman could not believe what Clover had been tasked to do. “Are ya truly workin’ alongside that shifter there on the isle?” she continued to write upon the scrying scroll. “What in the world could honestly be stopping him from goin’ back to school? What, Vale doesn’t pay its folk?”

Clover rolled his eyes and chided her to not drink the crown’s treasury dry each time, a reaction which always drew a bark of a laugh from Qrow. “Should I force James to pay for the liquor you’re taking from me?” he teased constantly.

“My company is not to your liking, milord? That should be payment enough,” Clover replied every time, his smile mirthful and true.

Qrow’s eyes were always far too soft after this exchange. Clover tried not to dwell on this fact, along with the fact that Qrow Branwen had quickly become one of the most attractive individuals he had ever worked alongside.

Thankfully, at the end of two weeks, the fated day arrived at last. Qrow’s home was sparkling clean, his expression a mix of trepidation and hope as he waited at the foot of the last leg of the path leading up to his home. The sun cresting over the top of the mountain was blinding, but Qrow was still focused solely upon the treeline below, waiting for three figures to emerge. “What if they met some Grimm?” he murmured to Clover, hand gripping his other arm anxiously. “What if something happened-“

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Clover soothed immediately, placing his hand upon Qrow’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’ve stated their father is a strong Huntsman- to be a part of the guild, he must be. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

To his surprise, Qrow instantly melted into Clover’s touch, leaning his head briefly onto Clover’s hand. “I- I know,” he murmured, sighing. “I just-“

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, his body language shifting so easily that it could’ve been a different man standing in the morning light. Clover felt his tension crumble as Qrow’s face lit up, his smile growing sweeter than anything Clover had ever seen- those brilliant crimson eyes softening beyond measure, his normally-wicked grin growing gentle yet exuberant, his voice growing soft and tender as he knelt down, opened his arms, and called, “Heya, kiddos.”

Two tiny bodies launched themselves into his arms. “Uncle Qrow!” “Uncle Qwow!”

Clover chuckled, watching the two girls he had seen in that little cottage giggle and squeal as Qrow pressed kisses against the tops of their heads while he scooped them up. He lifted his eyes finally to look at the third figure who had rounded the bend- the blond who Clover had seen earlier in the cottage as well. “Hey, Tai.”

“You’ll be alright with the girls?” Taiyang murmured, holding up a small satchel, presumably of the girl’s belongings. “I’m off to a mission in East Sanus, so it’ll be a few weeks.”

Before Qrow could respond, Clover walked over to the man, holding out his hand to take the satchel. “Sir Clover Ebi, Knight of Mantle. I’ll be here to help,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Taiyang.”

Taiyang’s eyes widened, an immediate mix of confusion and distrust clouding his face. “And what is a Knight of Mantle doing in our little corner of the Kingdom?”

Qrow stepped forward. “Remember I said I had an unexpected guest? He’s one of James’ men- Oz sent for him.”

The blond’s brows raised. “Um… why?”

Immediately, Qrow flushed, the reaction causing Clover’s face to heat up as well. “I-it’s a long story, Tai. He’s a guest now, it’s fine.”

At Qrow’s assurance, Taiyang’s expression relaxed, the man handing over the bag. “In that case, godspeed,” the Huntsman laughed wryly. “These little goblins are loveable, but a _lot_.”

“I’m a firecracker!” Yang screeched into Qrow’s ear, causing the man to wince in pain as she bounced in his arms, her blonde curls shimmering in the sunlight. Ruby cackled in response, the gaps in her teeth showing beautifully, her thin brunette strands falling into her open mouth.

Chuckling, Clover nodded, bowing lightly to the other man. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The three men exchanged a few more comfortable words before they finally parted, Clover and Qrow heading up to Qrow’s home, the two girls waving goodbye to their father over Qrow’s shoulder. Thankfully, there were no tears shed- only a simple, “Be safe, daddy!” which the two girls screamed over Qrow’s shoulder, deafening the man further and causing Clover to have to bite back his laughter.

Eventually, the quartet found themselves situated in Qrow’s kitchen, the two girls seated at the high chairs around the table. Qrow had put water over the woodstove, readying cups for tea; the girls took that time to stare curiously up at Clover.

The knight swallowed thickly, smiling clumsily at the girls. As an only child in his noble house, he never truly had a large family- the closest thing he had ever gotten to younger siblings had always been the pages and squires of the castle, all too focused on following protocol to be young and vulnerable to the knight.

Clover called to Qrow, “Do you need any help?”

Somehow, those words were the spell that shattered all of Ruby and Yang’s hesitation, the two little girls pouncing on him.

“Are you a prince?”

“You look like a pwince.”

“Where’s your crown?”

“Do you have a castle?”

“Now, now,” Qrow chuckled, prying the two children gently away from a baffled Clover. “Remember old King Ironwood? Clover’s a mighty knight from Atlas.”

Yang threw her hands up in the air. “Atlasin- Atla- Atlesian Knight!” she parroted excitedly, suddenly holding up closed fists. “Fight me-“

Immediately, Qrow swooped in, playfully boxing the little girl until he could sneak his arm around her waist, drawing her in to tickle her. Her cheeks grew ruddy as she became breathless with laughter, doubling over giddily. As she squealed, Qrow looked up at Clover, explaining ruefully, “Her father’s a martial artist, and he’s begun teaching her. She thinks she can take on the world now.”

Clover squatted down, holding up his own fists playfully. “I look forward to when I can spar the best of the best in Patch,” he said, expression solemn and earnest. Yang’s eyes lit up in response, her grin sweeter than anything he could have expected.

“Aren’t knights supposed to come in and sweep princesses off their feet?” Yang suddenly asked, leaning onto the back of her chair without restraint, tipping it off-balance as she scrutinized Clover from head to toe. “Where’s the princess? Why are you here on Patch?”

“I’m here to… help your uncle,” Clover mused.

Suddenly, Ruby gasped, shuffling up to Qrow with all the excitement in the world. “Are _you_ a _pwincess_ , Uncle Qwow?” Ruby asked, silvery eyes glittering brightly in the Dust-light.

Qrow immediately scoffed and backpedaled, straightening up with a wince as his knees cracked, the sound somehow resonating even over the sudden whistling of the kettle as the water finally came to a boil. “Of course I’m not, Ruby,” he replied, leaning down to ruffle her short hair before heading to the kitchen counter to grab teacups. “What’re you talking about? Princesses are supposed to live in castles and-“

Before he could finish his sentence, however, the elder somehow lost his balance, falling headfirst forward. Clover’s body reacted before he could even think, years of training his reflexes perfectly preparing himself to lunge forward, his arms smoothly wrapping around Qrow’s waist and shoulders. The shifter’s breath rushed out of his lungs, but Clover paid it no mind, simply ensuring he had a sound grip upon the elder’s body before righting him once again, straightening out the laces on his chemise.

In this action, however, Clover had somehow forgotten the presence of Ruby and Yang; instantly, Ruby screeched, “You _are a princess,_ Uncle Qwow! Cwover, are you a pwince?!”

Yang added brightly, her lilac eyes practically sparkling even in the dim light of the cavern, “Clover, you’re really a knight in shining armour! Do you ride a horse too? Do you live in a castle? Do you go fight all the bad guys?!”

Chuckling, Clover released Qrow and nodded, an act which only elicited more excitement from the children. Yang was quick to climb onto the table despite Qrow’s scolding, sitting right in front of Clover with an expectant gleam in her eye. Ruby, on the other hand, clumsily dragged her chair over so she could sit right beside Clover, watching him with eyes so wide and bright they could have replaced the moon itself, awaiting a story.

“Well,” Qrow murmured, placing a tray of teacups and the pot upon the table away from Yang’s reach, “let’s hear your stories, Sir Knight.” There was a bit of strain in his smile- a hint of loneliness.

Clover relaxed, smiling gently at Qrow. “How about you two tell your uncle all your adventures first? He would like to hear stories, too.”

Instantly, the two girls lit up, turning their attention back to an unsuspecting Qrow just like that. Clover was content to prop his chin up in his hands as the children scurried over to their uncle, immediately chattering away at volumes that would’ve been deafening if not for the open window stealing away some of the sound; however, the way Qrow beamed at him over the top of their heads was evidence enough that Clover’s little redirect had been appreciated.

The children were adorable. Clover found that he did not mind playing with the girls in the slightest. Just as predicted, they absolutely adored the garden; little Ruby was more than happy to hunker down in the dirt and pull what Clover (clumsily) identified as weeds, whilst Yang delighted in drawing water from Qrow’s Dust-powered pump, filling up the watering can and spraying both the flowers and the hapless gardeners attempted to tidy up the garden. It was messy work, completely unlike anything he had ever been able to do in the halls of the castle; however, he soon found himself throwing away decorum, agreeing to their silly little requests without hesitation. There was no harm in making children smile, after all.

Qrow did not join them for these games they played, instead watching the tomfoolery with a careful eye out of the kitchen window. Clover knew it was because the man was cooking dinner, but as he caught those red eyes casting sorrowful gazes out at the two little girls more and more often, he realized just why Qrow insisted on staying inside. The truth of the matter, however, was gutting- the moment he understood just why Qrow was holing himself away, he longed to call out to the shifter to drag him outside to spend time with the children he adored more than life itself.

He didn’t want to step past the magicked barriers when his nieces were around. He didn’t want to attract the Grimm.

That thought itself was enough to break Clover’s heart. The children were finally here; how cruel could fate be to not allow him even the briefest moment in the garden which he had spent countless hours over the past weeks trying to create?

However, Clover knew better than to call Qrow out on this behaviour. He knew that there would be no changing the shifter’s mind, and there was absolutely no reason to rub salt in the man’s wounds. Instead, Clover took to chiding the girls more often after he realized what Qrow was doing, insisting that they frequently run inside to keep their uncle company. It wasn’t perfect, but the way Qrow’s face melted so wholeheartedly every time he saw the children come into his home was enough to inspire Clover to keep doing it.

After a dinner full of teasing and laughter, a dessert with a few more helpings than what was probably prescribed, and what seemed to be absolute carnage coming from the small children’s room as Qrow tried to get his nieces into nightgowns, Qrow finally joined Clover at the table. Without hesitation, Clover stood, pouring a small nightcap of liquor for the elder; Qrow accepted it with a weary, grateful grin, sipping on the drink as he sank into his chair.

“They’re sweet children,” Clover murmured, leaning his chin onto his palm.

Qrow shrugged, but the fond smile upon his lips was more than a little proud as he looked over at the closed door of his nieces’ bedroom. “Their dad’s a good role model,” he replied.

“I would argue that it is more than just their father,” Clover mused aloud. When Qrow turned to look at him, mouth falling agape slightly, the younger merely shrugged back, his smile feeling soft, comfortable, genuine. “You should give yourself more credit, you know.”

Rather than smiling, or blushing, or thanking Clover the way the knight had hoped, Qrow’s face merely fell, his expression growing troubled as he took another sip, then another, and yet another. Clover straightened up in his chair as he awaited the elder’s response, feeling his heartrate slowly beginning to climb, his palms growing clammy against the linen of his breeches.

After what felt like an eternity, Qrow finally lifted his head, the words escaping his lips shocking Clover to the very core.

“I’m going to go back to work at Beacon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you're looking for canon-compliant Qrow fic, check out [Progression](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543643), my new post-V3-V6 fic retelling those volumes from Qrow's POV!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading along, leave a comment! I could really do with the motivation rn, alas

“Are you…” His voice trailed off, breath catching in his throat before he cleared it, still reeling from the shock. “You mean that? Truly?”

Qrow sighed, leaning his head against the backrest of his chair, slouching down slightly. “I’ve been thinking about it since Oz explained why you were here,” Qrow admitted quietly, staring solely at his glass of liquor. “I probably should have mentioned it earlier, but… I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” Sourly, he added, “I didn’t exactly think I would actually find the courage to do it, maybe.”

Clover leaned forward on his elbows, his shock shifting just as quickly into joy, and then, morphing into ugly, sour concern. Deadpan, he said, “You don’t seem very pleased with this decision, Qrow.”

The elder slumped over before righting himself on his seat, leaning forward to mimic Clover’s posture in a feigned attempt to be confident, comfortable. “When I told Oz I was leaving, he basically called me a coward. The other instructors certainly said it to my face.” With a wry snort, he finally lifted his gaze, the rueful smile curving his lips and eyes painfully handsome even in their disappointment. “You were right on the mark, though, Clover. I’d rather Vale’s Huntsman’s Guild- even the students- be able to fight back with more skills under their belt, than to risk them being taught by someone incompetent and be put in danger.”

“And if anything happens while you’re teaching,” Clover added, his worry easing slightly, “at least you _will_ be there. They will be lucky to welcome you back, Qrow, make no mistake on that.”

Unfortunately, Clover caught his poor word choice too late; Qrow’s face clouded, the elder withdrawing slightly from Clover. “ _Lucky_ …” He sighed again, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. “I hope I can at least bring something useful enough to outweigh… everything.”

Clover refilled Qrow’s glass, smiling gently at the shifter. “Your misfortune does not define you, Qrow. You’re much more than that.” When the elder merely smiled, but didn’t raise his eyes, Clover continued, “What brought on this change of heart? Before, you were so set to stay away from Beacon. While I’m sure your return will be met with nothing but positivity, I can’t deny that I’m curious.”

Qrow raised a brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“…no?”

Rolling his eyes, the shifter pointing a long finger towards Clover, the alcohol and his obvious emotional and physical fatigue causing his control over his form to weaken; his finger quickly grew into a long, menacing curved talon before retracting again. And yet, Clover didn’t even blink, so accustomed to this clumsy little habit of Qrow’s.

…since when had he stopped worrying about Qrow’s shifting? Since when had he started feeling so _safe?_

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Qrow finally muttered, “It’s you.”

It took a moment for the meaning behind those words to register in Clover’s mind; however, the instant the weight of Qrow’s words settled in the air, vulnerable and tangible between them, Clover stiffened straight, heat rushing into his neck and face. His mouth fell open, but no words emerged, the man too focused on the _look in Qrow’s eyes-_

Quietly, Qrow drawled, “You’re a knight, not a nursemaid. You know as well as I do that performing a task like this would be an insult to your name and lineage if word returned to the king- this is _hardly_ what a knight from a noble house should be doing-“

“Qrow,” Clover spluttered, “I- I don’t mind, this has been-“

“But I’m not going to waste your time anymore. I’ve come to my senses.” Letting out a long, weary breath, Qrow stood, downing the rest of his glass in one far-too-quick go, the silhouette of his neck moving with each gulp outlined perfectly in the light streaming in through the window. All Clover could do was watch helplessly as Qrow finally dropped the glass down onto the table, staggering slightly as he shot the younger a warbling grin. “I’ll be a good little helper and get back to Beacon. Ozpin’s probably let the place go to hell while I’ve been gone, anyways. Someone needs to set it up again.”

Clover wanted to protest, wanted to cry out- but then, suddenly, it hit him, a wave of nauseating, harsh reality crashing over Clover with such intensity that he could scarcely breathe. Somehow throughout this entire exchange, he had forgotten what Qrow returning to Beacon _meant,_ considering how the most prevalent emotion welling up in Clover’s heart was _pride_ for the elder.

If Qrow returned, then his mission would be over. He would go back to Atlas. No more would he spend his days toiling in the sun, digging in the earth and listening to the evening rainfalls; he would set his course back to the docks where the _Winter Maiden_ would await him, carrying him back for voyage that promised to be even longer than a month on the return trip without Winter Schnee’s Aura, taking him back to naught but ice and snow in the glittering castle of Atlas.

_I’ll get to go home._

Why was he not overjoyed by this fact, by his success?

There was nothing he could say, however- no way to put to voice the desires rampaging through his soul, disturbing his heart beyond measure. So, he put on a tight smile, channeling all of his courtly grace. “I am loyal to my liege. This was my mission, and so, I followed it through.”

The glower was immediate. He should have expected it, in all honestly. “Yeah. Whatever you say, sir knight. Either way, no one would have known if you had up and left- I wouldn’t have told anyone about you- and yet,” and he softened, stepping closer to Clover’s seated form gingerly, “yet… you did.”

As Qrow’s words died on his lips, Clover stood up as well despite himself. “Qrow, I _wouldn’t_ have left,” he insisted, his heartbeat screaming in his ears. “I- I wouldn’t have left you alone like that.”

The look on Qrow’s face turned strangely sad- almost heartbroken, his brows knitting together despite the pleasantries in his smile. Then, the man stepped back, ready to leave.

Clover did not even recognize the movement of his body, the actions so innate and so instinctive that his mind was left in the dust, struggling to catch up; when he finally snapped to his senses once more, his hands were on Qrow’s arm, tugging the elder back towards him, forcing him to stay. “Qrow-“

But the elder’s face, mere inches away from his own- albeit turned away slightly, hidden in the shadows of the dim room- did not belong to the cool, confident figure he had met those weeks before. Instead, the face staring at the ground was flustered, eyes wide and ears flushed, an innocence projected off his silhouette so unlike anything Clover had ever seen Qrow to be-

_Brothers…_

Swallowing thickly, Clover attempted a playful smile with middling success. “Was King Ironwood correct?”

“In what?” the shifter grumbled.

“In choosing _me_ as the knight whom you would find the most-“

“Shut your mouth, _Sir Ebi,_ ” Qrow spat, his blush only deepening as he yanked his arm out of Clover’s grip. His words were utterly without venom nor conviction, however, his eyes flitting between Clover’s face and the floor without any of the strength the man bore as a Huntsman, as a fighter, as a shifter.

He was just a clumsy, sweet, handsome man.

 _…I wonder if the Royal Advisor knew this would happen,_ Clover thought, the pieces locking into place in his mind, his _heart,_ at last, as he took in the image of Qrow as he was. _I-_

Before he could even formulate another word, however, the sound of a door creaking open startled them apart. Qrow sprang towards the narrow hallway tucked in the corner, the flustered shifter murmuring, “Girls, what’s the matter?”

As Clover fought to calm down the heat in his own face, the two girls merely ignored their uncle and shuffled from their little bedroom towards Qrow’s cavern, their bare feet pattering lightly upon the floor, their eyes barely open, the hands not holding onto one another gripping onto stuffed animals which they dragged along with them. Silently, Yang fumbled with Qrow’s door and pushed it open; then, the two children closed the door behind them, leaving a baffled Clover and an exhausted Qrow behind.

“I- dammit,” Qrow muttered. “My damned luck.” With that, he followed the children into the cavern, leaving Clover behind to sort out his own thoughts.

It would not be an easy task.

 _…I bear feelings for Qrow, don’t I?_ Clover let out a long, haggard breath, closing his eyes. By the gods, how he _wished_ magicks worked within Qrow’s home; he would have given anything to use a calming crystal upon his soul, to be able to do _anything_ to sort out the mess of feelings entangling his duty and his desire and his oath to his liege. _This shouldn’t have happened-_

In his mind’s eye, he was instantly brought back to the first time he had met Qrow, the shifter standing within the cavern, holding his giant claymore against Clover’s throat. A bark of a laugh ripped involuntarily through Clover’s chest. _Brothers, my first thought was that he was handsome, wasn’t it? What am I, some maiden?_

He knew it was folly to dance around it, though. After all, he had never seen a Huntsman as capable as Qrow Branwen before, shifter or no.

But to pursue anything would be improper, wouldn’t it? Clover groaned, realizing belatedly that he had not heard a thing from the cavern; if the children were doing what he _thought_ they were doing, then Clover would likely need to begin packing up his things, getting ready to leave.

 _After all,_ he thought bitterly, his smile far more painful than he could have ever imagined it would be at the end of this mission, _my duty is done, isn’t it?_

Still, he bit down on his feelings and made his way over to the cavern. Just as suspected, the sight greeting him was that of Qrow kneeling beside his bed- the bed Clover had been using unbothered until now- brushing the stray strands of hair off of Yang and Ruby’s foreheads, the two little girls already deep in slumber. Quietly, Clover padded over, placing a gentle hand upon Qrow’s shoulder. “Do they do this often?”

Wearily, Qrow nodded. “Every once in a while.”

“It’s okay,” he mouthed to the shifter. “I’ll just pack up. I can spend the night in the kitchen, or head out now, if that would be easier.”

“No!” Qrow cried aloud, instantly regretting it as the girls frowned in their sleep; he sighed, straightening up and staring into Clover’s eyes, his own expression tormented and exhausted.

Finally, however, it seemed that Qrow made up his mind. “Fine,” he breathed. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

Without a word, Qrow’s body began to glow a shimmering blood-red, his Aura covering his entire body as the shifter began to transform. Clover scarcely had a chance to take a breath before long talons reached out, enclosing around his torso and picking him up bodily into the air.

 _I’m going to be sick,_ he thought faintly, the entire world spinning around him.

Before he could make due on that thought, however, the entire world grew dark and oddly _warm_ as he was released, the man immediately falling over, his footing weak and unbalanced upon uneven sticks and branches. When he fell, though, what greeted him was not the ground, but soft, silken feathers, the warmth of a giant body quickly enveloping him as more feathers draped around his body, urging him closer.

“You want me to sleep _here_?” Clover whispered, realizing at last his placement inside of Qrow’s nest.

The giant corvid nodded. In a strange, dreamlike trance, the creature opened its beak; Qrow’s voice emerged from its throat, barely above a whisper in order to keep the girls asleep just outside of the nest. “It’s too late for you to head out, and if the girls have already taken over…”

The hesitation in his voice was clear, but even so, Clover’s heart swelled in his chest. _So… we’ll sleep like this? Right now? With my heart still-_

But as that giant, menacing beak began to gently push his hair out of his eyes as the giant bird settled into a comfortable position, Clover could only resign himself to his fate. If he was being honest with himself, he did not want to leave. Qrow was warm, the tenderness in the giant creature’s touch so unlike the crude force belied by his talons, his beak, his anger.

If this was what Qrow truly was- if the flush on Qrow’s human cheeks, the sweetness of his gaze, was anything to go by-

_I have to go._

Bitterly, he obeyed the bird’s silent command to lie down, to simply relish in the warmth and comfort of downy feathers and the protective figure which the bird offered.

_This is the closest we’ll ever be, isn’t it?_

He made up his mind. Come dawn, he was going to contact Harriet. His duty was done.

Until then, however, he could enjoy this one night listening to a steady, thundering heartbeat, the blood and magic flowing through the shifter’s veins enough to keep him warmer than any blanket ever could.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only 1 chapter left after this :))) so excited to be done. Let me know what you think if you're reading along!

Feathers were warm. Qrow’s arms were warmer, though.

He became acutely aware of this fact come dawn, his body automatically bringing him back to alertness. The brisk air against his cheek was frigid, raising the hair on the back of his neck the moment he recognized it; however, that did not change the fact that he was not uncomfortable in the slightest, the downy layer of feathers covering the central floor of the giant bird’s nest more than soft enough to lay down his head, the warmth which had covered him the night before still the most comfortable thing he had ever felt in his life.

What was keeping him warm, however, was no giant bird at all; where the bird had been, there was now emptiness. Or, to be more accurate, there was just _Qrow._ Clover felt his entire body shiver, eat pooling in his cheeks, in his core, as he recognized the arm stretched across his waist, the lanky, strong legs tugging him close. The scent of skin and light cologne and sweat from being in the sun the whole day before curled up into his nose, but Clover did not mind, for he could recognize the unmistakeable scent of the shifter, the smell making him almost heady; the sunshine and heat seemed to exude from Qrow’s form itself, for the warmth at Clover’s back made him feel safer than he ever had before.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of simply turning in Qrow’s arms, shifting so that he could bury his nose in an angular collarbone, relishing in this closeness. He wondered whether this ache in his gut would be satisfied if Clover took a leap of faith, if he pressed his lips against pale skin, strong, sculpted, lean muscle; he wondered whether Qrow’s hold would tighten in his sleep if Clover clung onto him, too.

After all, this was the last chance he would ever get to be next to Qrow like this.

He could not do it in good conscience, though, so he simply slipped out of Qrow’s hold the best he could, staggering to his feet on the tiny patch of downy feathers which padded the nest. He was careful as he moved, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes as he began to search for a way out; it felt impossible, but as he squinted at walls of sticks and stone in the darkness of early morn, he was able to spot a built-in ladder of sorts upon one side of the nest.

Soon enough, he was back on his feet in the cavern. Glancing over to the two girls, he bit back a chuckle as he padded over silently to readjust the bedsheets; Ruby had somehow managed to swaddle herself up completely in the blankets, whilst Yang lay on her back, arms and legs spread like a starfish, mouth open without a care in the world. He quickly tucked the blankets under their chins, a strange surge of affection welling up in him; the feelings weren’t unfounded, though, considering how he had spent weeks listening to Qrow coo excitedly about these two little girls as if they were the brightest stars in the sky.

With that task taken care of, Clover headed out to the kitchen. There were things to do.

By the time Qrow stepped out of the cavern, Clover was already halfway dressed in his armour. He left the breastplate and helmet off as he shuffled through his packs, rearranging this and that to lighten the burden; whatever he did not need, he would happily leave in Qrow’s possession in case the elder could find a use for it. He had already sent a message to Harriet, meaning that the _Winter Maiden_ was currently in the process of getting ready to bear the journey back to Solitas at last. Or, at the very least, her crew was in the process of sobering up before they needed to head out to Patch once more.

Qrow’s expression was unreadable as he walked out in a light tunic and breeches, taking a seat at the table. Clover quickly handed him a mug of tea and a bowl of porridge before sitting alongside Qrow, beginning to work on fastening up his breastplate for the first time in weeks.

After a few silent bites of his porridge, Qrow murmured without looking up at Clover, “You know, if you wait ‘til nightfall, I’ll be able to fly you at least to the outskirts of the port. That way, you won’t have to bear the journey back.”

Clover grinned, his heart longing to leap at the offer. “It’s a kind offer,” he replied evenly, lacing the leather straps at his shoulder through the loops, “but I think if I arrive looking completely untouched, I’ll have to deal with more nonsense on their end. Spare me _some_ dignity at least; the townsfolk thought I was here to slay a beast. Perhaps I’ll find some Grimm to cull on my way back to at least _pretend_ I did my duty.” With a sigh, he added, “Besides, if I have too much energy by the time I arrive tonight, they may expect me to look at the accounts right away, and I do _not_ want to take a look at them until we are back on the sea.”

“…Brothers, it wasn’t a farce when you said they would ‘drink the treasury dry’, huh?”

“If only.”

Qrow snorted, ungainly and wry; Clover found his eyes following the elder’s movements, each tiny action irresistible now that he knew the source of his fondness for the elder. “I suppose that _would_ be how you Atlesian folk think of it,” he replied, amused. However, that cheeriness quickly fell away, his spoon falling against the inner lip of his bowl. “Clover…”

Clover winced as he cinched up the strap over his shoulder, his deft fingers focusing next upon the joint under his armpit. “Yes?”

“You’re really leaving, aren’t you?”

 _I wish it were not so._ “I have a duty to report to the king- and, of course, to aid him in defending the kingdom. It’ll already take me over a month before my return. I do not feel comfortable leaving my post empty for that long.”

“…is it really about your duty? What does your duty have to do with the fact that you’re running away from here?”

 _What am I supposed to do, Qrow- stay here? Pretend like my duty does not exist? Pretend like I can simply stay- for what?_ His mind already supplied the answer before he could reject it, unfortunately. _I can stay here with you. We could stay here together._

After all, Clover had learned over the past few weeks that he quite liked the soil, the forest, the sun. He had found that he quite liked shifters, too.

He smiled, thin and wan and weary. “That’s not fair of you to ask, Qrow. I must depart; my crew shall be awaiting me come nightfall.”

Qrow’s brows knitted together, but before the elder could push him further, the cavern door creaked open again. Tiny feet and chubby bodies clad in long, frilly nightgowns raced out to greet the two men; Ruby and Yang’s faces immediately lit up in awe as they took in the sight of Clover wearing his armour, Ruby immediately rushing over to look at the joints in the knee whilst Yang held her fists up as if to attempt fighting the knight.

With a bitter smile, Qrow stood, scooping Ruby up and placing a hand on Yang’s head, cooling her down. “Are you ready to go now, then?” he asked lowly.

The final clasp cinched tightly; with that, Clover stood, nodding. After over a fortnight of wearing naught but casual, comfortable linen gear, this ensemble was far heavier than he could remember, each piece feeling leaden upon his body. _Living here has made me soft,_ he thought, snorting silently. _Even if my skill has grown, my strength has weakened. I shall need to rectify that upon my return._

“In that case,” Qrow sighed, tilting his head towards the door, “it’s probably best to leave now, hm?”

Suddenly, Ruby wriggled out of Qrow’s grasp, taking a few stumbling steps up to the knight. Tentatively, she called, “Sir Cwover?”

He sighed ruefully, brows drawing up in exasperated affection as he squatted down, brushing her hair out of her face. “Yes, child?”

“You’re going away?”

He nodded. “A knight has to protect his king.”

Ruby’s lip wobbled, but to his absolute surprise and amazement, she raised her hand in a clumsy mock-up of a salute. “You’re a nice knight,” she mumbled shyly, gripping tighter onto Qrow’s leg as she raced to rejoin her uncle. “You should stay with Uncle Qwow. You’re his knight, wight?”

“Ruby,” Qrow muttered in exasperation, “again, I’m _not_ a princess-“

“You’ll come back soon to play though, right? Right?” Yang cried, bouncing anxiously, betrayal and worry threatening to overtake her large lilac eyes. “You’re not staying away forever, right?”

His mouth opened, but before he could speak, Qrow piped up, his hands falling upon the two girls’ heads comfortingly. “Now, now- he’s a knight and a nobleman. He probably stayed too long as it is.”

“But we just _got here!_ ” Yang cried, stomping her foot angrily onto the ground. “We were supposed to play more!”

“Heya, firecracker,” Qrow scolded lightly, his voice stern. “I’m sure he’ll-“ Then, he paused, his eyes lifting up to look at Clover, the quiet question in his gaze bearing down heavier upon Clover’s spirit than even the weight of his armour.

“Qrow…”

The shifter cleared his throat. “He’ll come back soon. Right?”

Clover glanced between the two girls staring up at him with eyes full of hope and wonder and fear, and finally just gave up. He smiled, nodding. “Yeah. I’m sure I’ll be back soon enough.”

The look passed between the eyes of the two men confirmed it, though. This would likely be the last time Clover Ebi set foot in this little home. His place was elsewhere- beside his liege.

The quartet ambled slowly over to the entrance of the cave, the two girls watching teary-eyed as Clover donned his helmet and adjusted his packs, ready to begin his journey anew. With Kingfisher’s sheath slung onto his belt, he stepped past the spelled barrier, only turning back when he heard Ruby whimper from the other side of the vine-marked entranceway.

“Then, I shall see you again one day, Sir Clover Ebi, Knight of Mantle,” Qrow said, expression stoic and firm. “Farewell.”

Clover nodded, slipping on his helmet at last. Silently, he withdrew a spelled crystal from his talisman pouch. “Farewell, Qrow Branwen, Huntsman of Vale,” he replied, just as somber. “I-“

His eyes searched Qrow’s face, frantic and yearning and true; this was the last time he would get to see it, after all. How he had managed to somehow give his heart so completely, so truly, to this shifter still made absolutely no sense to him, but his heart had not stopped racing ever since he had awoken in Qrow’s arms that morn, and the scent of Qrow’s skin, the heat of his embrace, still burned Clover’s skin. Whatever Qrow had done to win him over did not matter. All that mattered was that Clover had just a few moments left before propriety went out the window, before he threw down his packs and returned to the spelled cavern- to Qrow’s side- for the rueful, fatigued heartbreak shining unbidden in Qrow’s eyes made his heart ache and clench in a way he had not ever expected.

_His heart longs for me, too._

But Qrow belonged in Vale.

“I wish you all my luck in the world,” Clover breathed. “The Kingdom of Vale is truly the luckiest of all to have you protecting it.”

Qrow’s eyes widened, sharp teeth emerging to bite down on his lip, to clamp down on the undeniable rush of emotion that visibly arose in the elder’s heart at his words. Before he could reply, however, Clover dropped the crystal and crushed it under his heel, fighting to block out the sound of the little girls’ shocked cries as Clover’s body was cloaked with invisibility. He was not worried of being seen- he no longer had to hide away from the ‘dragon’ which he had been hunting during his journey to Qrow’s home initially, after all- but he would be damned if he allowed any mere passersby to catch sight of one of the most powerful knights in Atlas in a moment of yearning weakness, with tears in his eyes and sorrow in his soul.

He did not want to leave.

The journey back to the port town from whence he had arrived was along, dreary one; by midday, his eyes were puffy, his body dehydrated and begging for rest. He took a brief pause, drinking and eating lightly by a small creek, washing his face until his cheeks were red and raw. Then, he was back on the road, using up another invisibility spell to avoid curious looks on his trip. The Grimm still managed to find him, surprisingly enough; even his luck was not enough to dispel the negativity he was surely projecting into the world thanks to his conflicted, bitter feelings, and by the time the sun was beginning to disappear beyond the horizon, his armour was dusty and stained with Grimm ash and grime and his own blood.

Thankfully, the trip down the slope towards the port down and the inn was far easier than the voyage up it all; he pushed open the creaking door of the inn where he had left his belongings, only to be met with a raucous cheer. “Ya made it!” Captain Harriet Bree cried, the short woman proudly walking over to pat his shoulder. “Come on in; we’ve been waiting for ya since nightfall, and we’ve already got the innkeeper to draw a bath and set things up for the night. Go on, take a rest. We can catch up after.”

With a sigh, he murmured, “I’m not meeting you at the local pub, Hare.”

A collective wave of groans filtered through the air as she rolled her eyes, scowling and crossing her arms. “What, the successful knight’s too good to have a drink with the crew that shall carry him home?!”

Not one to be riled up by her jabs, he replied deadpan, “You know as well as I do that you’ve been drinking since I left you. You and your men should sober up- we don’t have the Royal Advisor’s magic to facilitate-“

“Nuh-uh, milord,” Harriet grinned devilishly. “We _do._ ”

Panic gripped his heart unbidden. _They did_ not _store her Aura in a disposable vessel for almost_ two months _in anticipation for this- it could have destroyed half this town if it had become volatile-_

Exhausted mentally and emotionally, he held up a hand, halting her. “I’ll see you come morning, Hare. Meet you at the docks.”

Her expression clouded, but now, it was concern that entered the fray. She waved to her men, ushering them out the door with the words, “Don’t worry- I’ll still meet you all there. Don’t cause any problems for no hardworking folk here, you hear?!” which was met with a round of affirmations from her crew. He was far too weary to argue further, however, so he merely nodded towards the confused, yet amazed innkeeper and began heading to his room.

He was two steps away from his chambers when Harriet grabbed his arm. “I didn’t tell my men what your mission truly was,” she said quietly. “They think you’ve been hunting a veritable dragon this whole time. What really happened, Clover? Did something go wrong?”

“…what makes you think-“

“How many times have I ferried you across the seas and back?” She sighed, propping a hand on her hip. “I’ve never seen you this displeased to head back out. Usually you can’t wait to return to your estate.”

 _Of course,_ he wanted to retort. _I’ve never before had a reason to_ want _to stay._

Qrow’s face flashed into his mind. He swallowed thickly, then extricated his arm from her grasp. “We leave at daybreak, Captain Bree. I wish you goodnight.”

She spluttered, but her cries were easily blocked out as he shut the door behind him. He did not need to answer her interrogations; not now.

The next morning arrived far sooner than he would have liked, for all he received for his journey was a lack of sleep and an aching heart come dawn. His morning exchange with the innkeeper was pleasant enough; he could see it in the curious man’s eyes that the civilian longed to ask what had become of the shifter which Clover had been sent to ‘slay’. _You knew that it was just Qrow,_ he thought wearily as he passed over the gold the proprietor was owed for guarding his affairs. _No wonder you were never truly concerned about me finding him back then._

 _Brothers,_ it felt like the past three weeks had been years- lifetimes, even. After all, everything was suddenly different. _I had thought I was out to kill a murderous, conniving shifter…_

And now, he was returning home with naught but his loneliness to show for it.

To his surprise, as the ship was nearly ready to leave harbour that morning, it was the innkeeper who rushed out to meet them, stopping him before he could board the _Winter Maiden._ “I’m sorry, milord,” the man gasped through heaving pants from having run out to find him, “but I just received a message from the capital. It’s addressed to you.”

The scroll the man bore in his hands was marked with the same emblem which had been emblazoned upon the official summons from Ozpin, the royal advisor. Clover immediately accepted the scroll, passing over a coin as thanks for the speedy delivery; then, he stalked over to the edge of the port, perching upon a box where he could read the message in relative quietude.

“ _To the good knight,”_ the message read in Ozpin’s elegant scrawl, “ _I hope this message finds you well. I have just been contacted by Qrow that he shall be returning to Beacon Academy, and for that, I thank you.”_

 _How did he get a letter to me so quickly-_ Clover began to wonder. Then, he sighed, shoving the thought out of mind. He had seen time and time again that Ozpin’s magic was frighteningly formidable; there was no point wondering how the man had done this deed.

“ _As thanks for your incredible work, and for your companionship to Qrow-_ “ Clover grimaced feeling his face heat up involuntarily from the implications of those words, _“-I offer you an additional gift. It shall be awaiting you in your kingdom. I do hope it shall ease some of your burdens._ ”

There was nothing else accompanying the scroll, so Clover folded it up and handed it off to one of the workers upon the ship, instructing them to pack it in with Clover’s belongings. The timing was perfect; Harriet waved him up onto the deck, holding a small object in her hands. “Hoist the sails!” she cried, her crew scurrying around her in a frenzy. Clover stepped cleanly out of their way, nodding to the familiar faces of those such as Elm the quartermaster and Marrow the young crewman as they readied to set sail.

“That’s… a bird?” he asked, eyes locking onto what appeared to be a small, porcelain figurine in Harriet’s hands.

The woman sent him a wicked smile. “We didn’t want the return trip to take three months, so we asked her in advance to supply us with a little proxy,” she chuckled. “Are you ready?”

Bracing himself, he nodded.

Once her crew was ready and settled, anchor lifted and boat finally unmoored from the port, she raised the bird above her head. “Let’s fly!” she cried to the resounding cheers of her crew.

Clover bit his tongue to keep from crying out as he watched the captain shatter the bird at her feet, the rush of Winter’s stored energy nearly blinding him as pure white light erupted from the shards and flooded into the mainsail, driving the _Winter Maiden_ forward without a second glance backwards. Once the wind was steady and the boat had built up speed, she raced back to the helm, calling out orders left and right, the entire crew vibrant and ready to take on this challenging trip back home once more.

Clover did not move, however. He merely knelt down, picking up pieces of the shattered bird. _Goodbye, Qrow Branwen,_ he thought, clutching the bird’s broken head in his hands, holding it close to his heart. _Take care. Be proud. Beacon Academy truly is lucky to have you._


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY FREE! I'm so happy to be able to throw another fic into the dumpster fire which is my 'completed works' folder. begone, big bird!qrow
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think now that it's finished! Your comments mean a lot, so leave a comment now that we're finally done <3 ;-;

The emerald canopies and chestnut soils and gentle, soothing rains of Patch felt like naught but a distant dream to Clover by the time he had finally re-established some semblance of a routine in Atlas. As he awoke each morning to the sight of harsh sunlight streaming in through the windows of his chamber, the view from his window naught but the perfectly-structure spires of Atlas’ capital city surrounded by nothing but icy tundra as far as the eye could see, the feeling of earth under his fingertips and greenery growing from his efforts felt like they were basically a hallucination, a delusion he had built for himself to justify his time spent in Patch.

It wasn’t a dream, however. He knew that. The moment he had returned bearing that scroll with the Valean royal advisor’s emblem, the castle had rejoiced. King Ironwood had held a banquet in his honour, for the relationship between Vale and Atlas continued to prosper thanks to Clover’s hard work. Clover attempted to refuse the celebrations- he knew that this mission was far less glorious than anything else he had ever done- but the king would hear nothing of it, far too proud of his knight’s success to notice his embarrassment.

The truth of his mission was only ever known by Harriet and, after hiding away from the festivities in the smithy, Pietro; even then, those two had no idea of the reason for which Clover’s face fell every single time people mentioned his safe return from Patch.

Perhaps he would have been truly able to accept his lovelorn loss as a part of this strange, dreamlike fantasy which was his memory of Patch, if it were not for the aforementioned gift awaiting him upon his return. The case of fine liquor which had been delivered to his estate was the finest in the land, famous to be a favourite Valean import of King Ironwood as well. Every time Clover looked at the labels, however, all he saw in his mind’s eye was the same bottle lined up on Qrow Branwen’s shelf in his dimly-lit home- long fingers shifting into talons, hooking around the neck of the bottle- a glass lifting up to thin, chapped lips, a ruddy flush in pale cheeks, a husky, growling voice crooning in his ear-

He missed Qrow Branwen.

In light of Clover’s service, the king granted him a leave following the harrowing journey back to Solitas. Clover’s luck and heightened skill had managed to keep the entire crew safe for the whole voyage, after all, which was commendable after numerous attacks from seafaring Grimm throughout the month-and-a-half they were stuck at sea. Clover hated this vacation, however, for it gave him little to do each day but train and toil and mull about; the servants of his noble house were more than capable enough of running the estate on their own, so there was nothing for him to do even when he returned to visit his frigid family.

So, Clover spent his days at the castle. The training rooms were always available, and even when they weren’t, no one would ever pass up the opportunity to spar against _the_ Clover Ebi. Thanks to his rigorous, albeit brief training with Qrow, his skills were sharper than ever, so he was never short of training partners with whom he could battle away his grief. It was a monotonous existence, to be sure- the only true highlights of his days were evenings in the smithy with Pietro, assisting the blacksmith with designing new armours and weapons for the knighthood- but Clover welcomed the exhaustion left in his bones at the end of each day.

When he was too tired, it was easier to not think about just how much warmer he would be if Qrow had been in his bed, too.

When the new intake of pages began training at the castle, their eyes bright and eager as they prepared themselves for their six-year-journey to becoming proper members of the knighthood, Clover was forced to face reality once again. It had been three months since he had left Patch, he realized as he observed one of their first combat lessons. Three months of aimlessness, of restlessness. Three months of filling his days however he could, because for some reason, he simply could not remember what life had been like before his journey down to Vale earlier that year.

Three months since Qrow should have recommenced teaching at the famous Beacon Academy. _I hope you’re doing well, Qrow,_ he thought to himself, watching the pages run exhaustedly around the school in frigid weather to train their stamina. _I hope you realize just how much of a difference you’re probably making._

Every word of encouragement he had ever said to Qrow had been true, after all. He sincerely believed that Qrow belonged in a classroom- his lessons were better than the instructors in Atlas, at any rate.

But this was the new normal. And even as he began to pick up local missions once again, ridding local communities of Grimm and supervising the pages and squires on low-stakes missions in Grimm-infested territory, he found that his greatest challenge continued to be this emptiness in him, this coldness in his veins. He wasn’t broken. He just… He knew it all could be better, and he didn’t know how to do it alone. The few women, and fewer men, whom he brought into his bed could never compare to the shifter he had grown so painfully fond of.

For the first time, not even his luck could keep him safe. That was likely the most frightening part of it all.

At the end of the day, however, he was contented enough. There was no point pining for what could never be; so, as time passed, he began helping out more and more with the students, putting his all into watching them grow and flourish. It helped that with everything he did, he could simply imagine Qrow putting in just that much more work; it kept him motivated, if nothing else, to imagine the elder man praising him for how he interacted with the children, for Clover had never been very good with younger folk, and for him, this leap of faith was greater than anyone looking in could have ever imagined.

Apparently, he was working too hard, though. One day, when he was assisting the newest page recruits during a fencing lesson, he heard Qrow’s voice echoing in his mind just as usual as he moved his blades through the basic attack stances for the demonstration. He ignored the voice- it sounded a little different than usual, but he could analyze his own fatigued hallucinations another time.

The feeling of a giant claymore striking against Kingfisher with a clang was certainly _not_ a hallucination, however.

“Take a look, children. This is how you disarm your opponent.”

_No-_

His heart was halfway up his throat when the flurry of attacks began, the assault from the giant, familiar weapon which had haunted his dreams for months far too fast for its unwieldy size; despite all of his skill and speed, the wielder quickly overwhelmed Clover with his skill, running the knight ragged in front of an enraptured, mildly-frightened audience.

It was likely only due to his luck that he saw the opening, but Clover was not about to waste it. As the other man straightened up, shifting his grip on his blade, Clover rushed forward and struck the man’s hand with the hilt of his blade, causing his opponent to yelp in pain as he dropped his weapon momentarily. The man tried to step away from Clover, to evade Kingfisher’s range; it seemed his misfortune had finally caught up to him, however, for he lost his balance, already preparing to roll back to his feet before he hit the ground.

He had no chance to. Clover moved on instinct, lunging forward to catch the elder before he could touch the cold ground below; his arm snaked naturally around the other man’s waist, catching him, the movements practiced despite it having been months since he had felt this heat for which his heart had yearned so desperately.

It was just as perfect as he remembered. That weight in his arms- that warmth, that scent- those talons growing-

_Oh Brothers above._

All he could do was relax his body and allow himself to be picked up bodily by a giant beak, the horrified screams of the pages watching on ringing through the hall at the sight of this giant, red-eyed corvid taking their instructor captive. The pressure of the creature’s beak upon his wrist was too much to bear, and he soon released Kingfisher, the blade clattering to the ground in a pathetic fall.

The moment it stilled, however, Clover was released. Strong hands caught him before he could hit the ground, helping him upright while he fought to regain his sense of balance. “And that,” Qrow Branwen called cockily, “is one way to disarm your opponent.”

One by one, the students realized that Clover was not screaming, not calling this newcomer a monster, not running away; the familiarity in his face must have shown, for soon, the students merely replied, “Um… milord, we’re not shifters though…”

“Class dismissed,” Clover called brusquely once he had regained his bearings, too shell-shocked by what was going on to provide a proper conclusion to their lesson. “Go wash up before the supper bells begin to ring.”

“Yessir,” the pages replied, their eyes bursting at the seams with questions they clearly longed to ask the knight. However, it would not be appropriate to accost their instructor all at once, so they had no choice but to obey.

As the pages all filed out of the room, heading towards the bathhouses, Clover finally sheathed Kingfisher, tottering to his feet to look at the other man properly. It was no hallucination, no mere fantasy; dressed in a warm tunic was Qrow, the elder man sporting a few more greys than Clover remembered. However, the man’s furrowed brow, his chiselled jawline, the confidence in his gait and the amusement in that smile and the sweetness of those crimson eyes-

Clover wanted to sob. Instead, he choked out, “…you know half of Atlas will think there’s a shifter who turns into a Nevermore in the castle now.”

“Yeah, Clover? That sounds like Jimmy’s problem, not mine.”

“I’ll give it till suppertime before he begins asking me about it.” Taking in a deep breath, Clover straightened his figure and finally approached the shifter. “What are you doing here?”

Qrow shrugged. “Ozpin created a program where advanced students spend their time cycling through other allied kingdoms to give them more field experience and improve their technical range,” he explained frankly. “They needed a field liaison in Atlas who could also return to Vale on a moment’s notice, and, well... I realized that my bad luck wouldn't be as problematic here.”

In that one moment, Clover had never been prouder of his good fortune- how could he not be, when he had just been told that Qrow felt truly safe by his side, that his anxieties would ease thanks to Clover's proximity?

Then, something else caught his attention. “On a moment’s notice? That’s not- but how would you-“

“Flying to Anima, resting, then going to Sanus. It’s draining as all hell, but it could be done in an emergency. We’re hoping I can stick to normal methods of travel.” The elder grimaced momentarily, adding, “The sea voyage here was _terrible,_ though _-_ gods, I spent half the time in the air just so I wouldn’t have to feel the goddamned boat rocking anymore.”

He wanted to beam, but panic seized Clover instead. “But what about your nieces?”

Rather than replying right away, the elder’s face reddened, the man looking away. “They told me to come,” he muttered after a moment. “They…” and the rest of his words trailed off, too quiet to hear.

“What was that?” Clover asked, stepping forward.

Groaning, Qrow repeated louder, “…They said I looked too sad at home, so I should come ‘rescue you’.” Oddly shy, he added, “I did promise that I’d bring you back with me to visit, so… you may want to start figuring that out now.”

 _It wasn’t just me. I’m not- I was not alone._ Clover smiled, feeling his heart swell up, filling with a warmth he had not felt for months. He had forgotten what it could be like to not be so damn _cold_ all the time, to be something other than what the icy northern continent required him to be.

This heat felt _right._

Stepping closer, Clover whispered, “Have a drink with me tonight, Qrow. I have your favourite.” When Qrow raised his brows in surprise, Clover merely shrugged, a wry grin upon his lips. “Another one of Ozpin’s ‘gifts’.”

Qrow clasped Clover’s shoulder, squeezing gently; then, the hand drifted downwards until it settled onto the small of his back, his thumb tenderly kneading circles in the man’s waist. “That sly bastard,” he chuckled.

“Shh- you can’t say that-“

“I’ll call him a bastard and I’ll call your king Jimmy if I want to,” Qrow growled, a wicked gleam in his eye as he began leading Clover to the door. “What’re they going to do- stop me?”

“How are you going to fight back?” Clover retorted instantly, his own hand reaching up to brush Qrow’s hair out of his eyes. It was shorter now, he noticed- fresher, cleaner than before. Brighter. “Are you just going to caw at them?”

“Wow. This is the treatment I get after coming all the way up to this godforsaken ice-field.”

“Says the bird.”

“Says the _giant_ bird. You’d better have enough room for me,” Qrow grumbled, pretending to pout.

At the sight of that silly expression, Clover felt his feet plant into the floor, laughter burbling up from his gut so fiercely that soon, he had thrown his head back, clutching onto Qrow for support as he laughed and laughed and laughed, only ceasing after a few minutes. Wiping a tear from his eyes, he chuckled, “I’m sure I can find some old wood scraps for you to make a nest after you get drunk,” he teased. “Otherwise, my bed shall have to suffice.”

Qrow raised a brow, but the way his eyes creased, his smile softened, his heart appearing on his sleeve- Clover knew that he had said the right thing. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” the elder murmured.

Qrow Branwen tasted sweet, Clover learned that day, and figure something out, they certainly did. Shifters were resourceful creatures, after all, and Clover Ebi was nothing if not the luckiest knight in Atlas.

**_-fin-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Follow me on [Tumblr](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com) for new fics/art/podfics, or message me on Discord (fp#8010) if you're interested in joining a teeny general fandom server!
> 
> Here are my [other FG works!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898392) I've got over 460k of FG content alone, so take a look!
> 
>  _Other RWBY series:_  
>  If you want to see more of Qrow in canon, check out my [Qrow Branwen-Centric Fic series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448095)
> 
> Here are [AUs both set in canon and out](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948) for RWBY. 
> 
> If you want to stay completely within RWBY's canon, here is [another series of completely canon-compliant fics for you.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815229)
> 
> If you're looking for a long series in canon and like Team JNPR, here's a series that's a [rewrite of Vol. 1-6 through Pyrrha and Nora's eyes!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448071)
> 
> Cheers for reading, y'all! See you in my other fics, and let me know what you thought of this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think :)


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